The Silver Orb
by bookfaerie
Summary: Lyra's going to the St. Sophia, but just before that, the Master gives her a strange silver orb. She is soon helplessly pulled into a battle against angel and man, fighting for her right on Earth, and journeys once more to the Underworld of Death. R&R,plz
1. Of Concerning New Matters

Lyra had missed Will all through the year, but she was not willing to show it. She talked about it to Pantalaimon, but realized that he grew tired of listening to her ramblings of Will, and besides, she was soon going to Dame Hannah's college.

She still lived in her Staircase Twelve, but it no longer seemed a home, only a temporary place to live. For so long she had traveled from world to world without rest, until it seemed that she belonged nowhere. But Jordan College had seemed to be her home for twelve short years, but it had taken a year for the journey to worlds and to defeat the war, and now, at her fourteenth year of age, the past two weeks after her birthday had seemed so long, such an eternity without Will.

Lyra sat in her windowsill in Staircase Twelve, having nothing to do these days but to just stare and take walks around the whole quad. She did not dare bathe in the river, nor play with the street children. She alone was isolated, ostracized, and there was nothing she could do about it. While other girls and boys of her age were working, they were still careless compared to her. They were ignorant of the other worlds, of the deep complications of the alethiometer.

"Pan," she sighed. "D'you think that there'll be books on how to read the alethiometer? I really want to learn to read it again, I really do."

"I suppose there will be. It will take a lifetime, though. Are you sure you want to learn again?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm sure, Pan, I'm sure of that much, at least. I look at it now, and there's no earthly way to read it! Do you think I could drink some wine and get drunk like I did before? I'd like to do that, seeing as I'm bored all through the day."

"You had better not," he warned. "There's a dinner tonight with Dame Hannah and other important guest, such as the Palmerian professor and the Zoroastrian professor."

"I'm going." She got up and ran down the stairs to the pungent-smelling cellar and took a look at all the wine bottles. The anticipation was pleasant; it differed from the other feelings of randomness. Her spine prickled with excitement as she chose Tokay and broke it off at the neck. There was amber liquid in there, and she sipped at it, careful to not let the wine spill on her dress or let the rough edges of the neck cut her. The flavor was bitter, deeply grand and complicated, just as she had remembered. But she did not get drunk. "Why en't I drunk, Pan? I was drunk before."

"It's probably because you're bigger now, and you can handle more wine," he answered sensibly.

Without speaking, she took another bottle of Tokay and drank it. The flavor in her mouth was not pleasant after the bottle was empty and discarded, but she discovered that she liked the feeling of being wrapped in some sort of cocoon all away from the world. "I'm dizzy, Pan. I'm seeing thrice of everything," she quavered as she tried to get out of the cellar. She took one, two, three cautious steps away and ended up at the stairs. She saw three stairs.

Lyra managed to make it halfway up the stairs before collapsing in dizziness. She closed her eyes for a minute, and then bravely continued her expedition up the stairs.

She got out and sniffed the fresh air. The feeling in her stomach reminded her of nausea; she walked onto the grass and vomited copiously. She came up for air, to realize that she felt better now, and she was not seeing three of everything, but she still had that cocoon-like feeling about her.

Mrs. Lonsdale had happened to see Lyra vomit, and now she waddled over to the spot where Lyra was standing stupidly. "Look at you, child! Are you ill?"

"No," Lyra answered fervently. "No, I'm not ill."

She sniffed Lyra's breath and found that it smelled of stinky alcohol. "You've been drunk, en't you?" she threatened. "Off to your room with ye. You're a naughty one, you are, to be drinkin' spirits of sorts," she said and clouted Lyra on the head. She dragged her up to the room and made her sit down on the bed. "Get dressed. It's nearly five, and the Master'll want you at six-thirty sharp."

Lyra stared at Mrs. Lonsdale for a second, feeling trapped, and then she climbed out the window, stepped onto the gutter, and made her way to the roof. "Try and get me," she taunted, seeing the now-small figure of Mrs. Lonsdale standing there inside her wide window.

"You get back o'er here!" she shouted, waving her meaty arms and tried to climb unsuccessfully.

Lyra stuck her tongue out. She would go in at six instead. There was no harm, was there, in waiting?

She ran over the roof and onto the roof in Yaxley Quad.

A pair of arms grabbed her legs as she went near a window. "Get off, get off!" she shrieked as her head banged on the window-ledge and she was dragged into a high room. She saw the Master glare at her. For an old man, he was surprisingly strong.

"Get back—now," he ordered. His command of authority frightened her, and she scurried out of his room and back into Staircase Twelve.

She was forced to wash her face with a rough scrubbing cloth and made to put on her most hated dress, a light-blue frilly thing with lace that threatened to trip her over every time she walked. Mrs. Lonsdale brushed out Lyra's deep golden snarls in her hair and put it up, unmercifully scraping hairpins onto her scalp. "Now, you don't complain about the pins. How d'you think we put up with it?" she grumbled, pointing to her own chignon. "Now, put your stockings on, the clear white ones—your stockings are gray! Oh, just put them on and your boots as well. The servants blacked it all night for you and you ought to thank Hattie for blacking them, alright."

Lyra was glad to escape from Mrs. Lonsdale's clutches and run all the way to the Dining Room, where she saw the honorable Dame Hannah, some female Scholars, the Palmerian professor, a Skraeling, and what must have been the Zoroastrian professor, because he was somewhat dark-skinned and wore a headdress. The Master was here as well, so she curtsied respectfully. "Good evening, Master."

She took a fancy to the Skraeling and the Zoroastrian professor, because they looked so exotic, while the Palmerian professor looked just like a regular European. "What's the religion of Skraeling, sir?" she asked to the leather-skinned, glossy black-haired person who sat next to her.

"None of your business, young lady," he scolded. Lyra was sorely disappointed. But as she ate her dinner of roasted beef sirloin tip and some kind of bouillabaisse, there came up the subject of Dust and the openings to another world.

"There has been evidence of this matter, Dust, and that it exists. Why, Lord Boreal has disappeared from the face of the earth entirely on his expedition—,"

"Not true, sir," Lyra interrupted. "Lord Boreal was murdered."

"Murdered?" asked the Zoroastrian. "Was he?"

"Yeah. Someone did it to him. I saw it, I did." She could see the shock on everyone's faces and Pantalaimon, on his rare changes, turned into a goldfinch and chirped and twittered with glee.

The Master shot her an evil look that warned her that if she should proceed, something terrible would happen. Then he continued with his conversation as if nothing had happened. "Well, we have got a witness of someone who has seen Dust. It is this girl: Lyra."

Lyra sat up a bit more and said, "We're all Dust. Anything that is conscious matter is Dust, en't it?" she asked, perhaps to Pantalaimon and Will and Serafina Pekkala.

No one said anything more about the matter of Dust, but after the dinner, the Master called her to his study. When she stepped in, he drew a red velvet chair for her to sit down on. It was the simplest in the room. The absolute power the Master had seemed to radiate from his body and somehow work its way into Lyra's head. "Lyra, you are not to say anything about this except to Dame Hannah," he said in his guttural voice. "Before you go tomorrow, however, you said that you wanted to learn every instrument to knowledge."

Lyra nodded, remembering her exact words. "Yeah, I said that. Well, are you going to give it to me or en't you?"

The Master took out a kind of silver thing, very curious; it was a small orb. There was a crack in the middle, and when he opened the crack, something swirled inside there, real and ethereal all at once.

"What is it?"

"I do not know; it is something your father, namely Lord Asriel, gave me many years ago."

"Oh." Whenever the Master gave this type of object, for example the alethiometer, he never knew what it did, or claimed not to know. "Well, thank you, Master." She gave him a gentle hug, for it would be a year before she saw him again.

"So, this is your roommate Cassandra," Dame Hannah introduced. Lyra just looked at the enthusiastic girl who waved and tossed her black hair. She reminded her of Mrs. Coulter, but a kinder and gentler version, if there ever was. "You have an hour to get acquainted, and then we will go to dinner."

Lyra looked around at the place. Outside, it seemed dingy, but it was warm and comforting inside, and everything was white and clean. "This place en't like Jordan, that's for sure," she whispered to Pantalaimon.

Cassandra, once Dame Hannah left, turned into a regular human being. "Lord, we have to act like that when we're meeting new girls. You're Lyra, then, Lyra Belacqua?"

"Lyra Silvertongue." Cassandra's daemon, a sleek gray cat, wound her way around Pantalaimon, an owl. Pantalaimon gave a hoot and hopped away as Cassandra's daemon threatened to trip him over. "My daemon's Pantalaimon."

"Mine's Coppelius," Cassandra giggled. "D'you want to climb up on the roof?"

Lyra was enticed at having another girl share her passion of climbing roofs and she accepted the offer with gladness. Cassandra (or Cassie, as she called her now) showed her the chimney-tops and which places you could sit without sliding down. Then, the dinner-bell rang and they went in regretfully to the Dining-Room.

"It en't so grand as Jordan College," Lyra said, and then she felt her spirits dampen. Oh, how she did miss Jordan! A part of her longed for Jordan, which was her home, her place to live, but she hadn't felt at home there. So where did she belong?

Cassie seemed to sense her sadness so she didn't talk anymore.

In bed that night, while Cassandra was sleeping in her own four-poster bed, Lyra looked at the bed-hangings and the wood and the scenery. It was so different from her Staircase Twelve.

"Pan, I miss Jordan. I've never done so before. It en't right. I ought to be happy here, but I en't," she said in above a whisper. Something seemed to hurt inside her and she broke into a fit of passionate sobbing, of longing for Mrs. Lonsdale, the servants, Master, the Steward, the Scholars, everyone that had treated her like family. She surprised herself but didn't make any attempts to stop crying.

She mostly closed her eyes and wept under the covers, and when she poked her head out and wiped her eyes a bit, she saw that there was the faint grayish-blue light that promised dawn. A look at the different scenery made her eyes overflow again for a little while; it was like a night-ghast that she'd had when she was five, only to find out that it was true.

She looked at Pan and found that he had fallen asleep. She looked up at the bed-hangings and thought, "I suppose I ought to sleep."

She closed her eyes and drifted off.

The next day, she found that she had alethiometer lessons with Dame Hannah herself, instead of the other regular teachers.

She stepped into the room and saw the elderly, kind lady. "Dame Hannah, I'm here for alethiometer lessons."

Dame Hannah seemed to sense her hidden sadness and drew her to a chair. Lyra took out the alethiometer and stared at the clicks of the knobs and the senseless way the bigger, heavier arrow swung its way around the whole of thirty-six symbols, stopping sometimes at a symbol and not at another. "Dame Hannah, can you give me the book?" she asked. A thick, heavy, red-leather-bound book, dusty with age, was put carefully aside the alethiometer. She flipped open the book, traced her right index finger down the endless table of contents, and found Symbols and Meanings. She flipped it to page 1590.

"_The meanings in the alethiometer are endless, but with comprehension, it can be used to ask many questions, pointing at the right symbols. The word alethiometer is derived from Greek word __**aletheias**__, which means truth. Therefore, the purpose of the alethiometer is to tell the truth, no matter what. _

"_This object is dangerous, for it can tell everything about the world, and many governments do not want the people to know the truth of nature. _

"_The thirty-six symbols have different meanings. _

"_The baby can represent innocence, child, play, new, ignorance, youth; many are known by understanding how the alethiometer works." _

This was but a small section of the chapter Symbols and Meanings, but they seemed useless, because she'd read it before and she'd previously known the meanings when she was twelve.

Lyra slammed the book shut, a wall of rage building up in her mind. "I've learned to understand the alethiometer, so why can't I read it?" she screamed. "En't I learned enough about the world? En't I learned enough things to read it?" She kicked over her chair and ran out of the room and down the staircase. The halls were not deserted, unfortunately; it was passing time for classes. Lyra shot like a bullet through the massive bulk of students and tried to get up to the roof, but found she couldn't.

Cassandra followed Lyra, and she led Lyra up to the roof, and then left herself.

Lyra screamed in frustration. "Oh, that book is useless! We can't ever learn to read it. It's gone, forever, and only the angels know what to do with it! Serafina, it would be a good time for you to come right now," she growled to the soot-clogged sky. The sky wasn't even visible for her to scream at…

She kicked at a metal pipe hard, only to find that the consequence was more rage and a sore foot. "Pan, nothing's like Jordan here! Everything's different and so un-homelike! Even the Costa's boats and the journey to the Arctic were more homelike than here. Mrs. Coulter's—my mother's—home isn't a welcome place, no matter _what_ the Master says!" She stomped her foot and growled again.

Pan turned into an ermine, snow-white and soft. He crept around Lyra's neck and nudged his face on Lyra's cheek tenderly. "I know you miss Jordan, but it'll be better here," he said quietly.

"Well, it _en't_," she replied vehemently. "This en't my family here. I had no family, did I, Pan?"

"I'm your family," he offered.

"I know. You're a daemon, so that makes sense. But Ma Costa en't my mother, and Lord John Faa and Farder Coram en't my fathers. And Will…"

"For God's _sake_, stop talking about _Will_, might you?"

Lyra took out the alethiometer and stared at it until her eyes saw symbols when she closed them. It did not help, but, as she vaguely remembered, looking at the alethiometer gave her a sense of calmness and wholeness. "Oh, I feel much better looking at it," she whispered so that Pantalaimon could not hear her.

Someone was on the roof; Lyra looked at the direction of the sound, startled, but found that it was only Cassandra. "Is Dame Hannah mad at me? I am, but she en't, is she?" she asked anxiously, biting her lower lip afterward.

"No, she en't mad at you, but she says that you might want to take it easy here. What happened, anyway?" she asked curiously. Here was a new pupil, one heard all around the world, from Brytain to Norroway to High Brazil to America. "I've heard that you seen Dust or Rusakov particles, whatever they are."

"Can I just go to bed? I en't feel like talking to anyone but you now."

"Sure. Dame Hannah's nice, but she gets fair moithered when a pupil disobeys." Lyra's face contorted into an expression of worry, so she hurried on: "She en't too mad; she knows that what you're relearning—the aleth—alethio—whatever it is—is hard and it'll take a lifetime."

"It's the alethiometer."

"Might I see it?"

Lyra took a deep sigh and pulled the alethiometer out of her black velvet bag. "I forgot how to read it. I used to be able, but I can't now. It en't fair."

Cassie took the alethiometer in her hands gingerly, and even so, she only let her gaze wander over it for a minute, as if she were afraid that looking too long would result in her eyes going blind, like the basilisk. "It's made of pure gold, that is," she said, and gave it back to her outstretched hands.

She stowed it away in the black velvet and had Cassandra guide her to their room.

Their room. Lyra no longer had a private room. Everything done would be known by her mate, her perhaps future friend, and the knowledge was not welcome. Nothing could be done alone, not even talking to Pantalaimon. "I hate this place," she said to Pan passionately and hit the iron bed-frame hard. It was very true; she hated this place with vehement, and she wanted to be back where she belonged, or at least where everyone was somewhat familiar.

She felt a bulge in her skirt pocket and pulled out the strange silver orb. It seemed to emanate a sense of danger and excitement, and, very possibly, death itself.

Things swirled inside it, but one thing caught her eye. Will was there.

Lyra caught her breath at the longed-for and familiar sight of the handsome, dark-haired boy. "Will, you able to hear me?" she asked, but no reaction came, just as she'd inwardly expected but outwardly hoped that he'd be able to hear her. "Oh, that was useless! Of course Will en't going to come; he's in another world and we can't meet until Midsummer's Day!" She ground her teeth to stop crying: she was not a girl who cried often, only when she was in distress. The need to cry passed away quickly, as usual, so she relaxed her jaws.

She stared at the orb. There came images of Mary Malone, angels, the highest angel of order called God, the Magisterium, Will's knife, and something black spreading. When it had all ended and everything was just majestic swirling mist inside, she put it back into her bag and lay down on her unmade bed, with Pantalaimon always by her side. "What d'you think this all means? The Master never gave us any instructions—not even how to work it."

Pan changed from his ermine shape into a moth and settled on the bridge of Lyra's nose to make her cross-eyed. "Perhaps you need to work it out for yourself," he suggested in his tiny squeaky moth voice.

Lyra changed the subject altogether, feeling too stressed about these events. "I en't going to take alethiometer lessons again if it means I'm studying out of a stupid book," she said angrily and punched the iron bed-frame with her right hand again. "That book's useless." She pursed her lips and refused to go on.

Pantalaimon gave a tiny moth sigh and turned into a leopard, a small snow leopard. "You have got a conscience, haven't you? Perhaps you had better apologize to Dame Hannah."

"I en't going to!" she cried out and wanted to slap Pan, but something stayed her hand and instead she kept it where it was, gripping one of the iron bed-frame bar. "I don't mean to and I en't going to!" She wanted to say that she was mad clear through but decided that it wouldn't be good.

During dinner, she was thoroughly depressed about the subject, and when she went to bed, she glared at Cassandra with cruel blue eyes. But at night, she woke up three times, and on the first two, she found the same rage boiling inside her heart but on the third, the rage in her young breast had subsided and cooled to an emotion similar to pity, but not quite.

There was still the residue of rage in her heart that made her cold and unfeeling when Cassandra answered a question on experimental theology wrong, which was of elementary particles. She did not help her either, when she needed someone to turn the jump-rope, but just sat down on a bench in the garden near the playing area. Lyra knew that Cassandra was not bright but still refused to help.

Alethiometer lessons came, of course, but instead, Lyra ran to the roof again and found that serene peace and tranquility by looking up at the now-visible sky.

The sky was no longer soot-clogged but now nearly as clear as Jordan College air, but to be sure, this was not the countryside, unlike Jordan. Just being able to see the sky cleared her mind as she sat down cross-legged like a Turk and hugged Pantalaimon.


	2. Hidden

She took out the strange silver orb again and stared at it once more. She was quickly growing tired about the alethiometer. The orb was translucent; a sheer gauze veil of silver, and, it seemed, over the pictures that were forming inside. There was a gold chain that hung from the little loop on top of the orb, and they coruscated in the blinding sunlight. "Pantalaimon, d'you think that this silver orb has anything to do with what happened before? Or did my father"—she stopped, because she felt so strange, saying the name of her dead father, the mighty Lord Asriel—"give it to the Master for a reason?"

"Maybe for a reason, maybe not," Pan answered cryptically. "Now, watch the orb!" he chattered as a howler monkey, making a raucous wail. But then he changed into an owl, with large, glowing eyes and golden-brown-mahogany-cream-tan feathers. His owl pupils widened as the images shifted in the silver orb.

The images came in random order: a sword, fighting with an unknown someone, and a gray world with ghosts which Lyra recognized as the World of the Dead. She shivered, frightened at her recollection of the painful passage through the river. She quickly snapped the thing shut. "I don't want to see it anymore," she moaned, half immersed in the gray world in her mind. She was nauseous and frozen in place at the same time, it seemed, and the pictures in her mind of separating herself from her daemon reminded her of the ache in her heart.

Pantalaimon licked Lyra's shut eyes as her skin turned the deathly gray of a corpse. Pan seemed to fade a little bit as Lyra turned pale. His shape was no longer sharp but blurred, like the edges of a worn-out memory.

"Lyra?" he asked. She opened her eyes suddenly and he jumped backward a little at the startling blue eyes. "Are you all right?"

She nodded her head. "Yeah, Pan, I'm fine, it's just that I don't like that world, that's all," she said. She stood up and stretched like a cat, yawning and flexing her limbs. "I really wonder what this thing does." She had a sudden idea: Dame Hannah's library was a grand, deep one, and she was sure that Dame Hannah's library would hold something that told her about the strange orb. She put the orb back in her pocket and ran all the way up to Dame Hannah's office.

"Dame Hannah," she panted as she burst through the mahogany door, "d'you think I could use your library for a minute?"

"Of course," she replied warmly. Lyra went through the glass door to the library. She found a gap between two books: the Subtle Knife and the Joseph's Orb. She assumed that the gap was the book she'd read a day ago on the alethiometer. She now took out the book on Joseph's Orb, because it was the only thing that captured her attention besides the Subtle Knife. Will had used the Subtle Knife, and so she ran her fingertips over the spine of that book longingly.

She flipped open the book to the introduction of Joseph's Orb.

"Joseph's Orb is much more legend than actual evidence of the existing matter. There now is proof that it does exist, and it is currently in Jordan College in London, where Lord Asriel, finding it in the North, entrusted the current Master of Jordan, Adrian Inglefield Watson, to keep it safe from theft and the Magisterium."While the Magisterium demands to know the whereabouts, the Master of Jordan College has kept it safe for many years until the prophecy (see page 1497) is fulfilled. This is relating of Adam and Eve, the infamous biblical story of the couple who were sent to Earth.

"The orb has the power of predicting, accurately, the future, though events may change it, but in most cases, whatever happens has already happened…" Lyra scanned. "Oh, Pan," she half-whined, half-moaned, "what do we do now?"

"Nothing much, I guess," Pan responded.

"You're stupid, Pan. I'm going to see Serafina Pekkala. That's what I'll do. Yeah," she said, nodding her head as her idea fully bloomed in her head. "Maybe she knows something about it—she's older than us, Pan."

"Same old Lyra," Pantalaimon sighed and shook his head. He stayed an owl for a little bit before he changed into a pine marten. His changing powers were slowly deteriorating.

"I'm gonna escape, and you know it!" she whispered hotly to him.

"But there's no Lee Scoresby," he complained. "We can't possibly travel like that."

"What, I need a companion? Fine, I'll take Cassandra."

"No—no—no! I mean, there's no one to guide you—,"

"Oh, shut up, Pan."

She ran through the whole day's lessons, not caring if she got an answer wrong or something of little importance. She would see Serafina Pekkala again, and finally, she would be a little happy.

She told Cassandra about her plan at night. "So, we're going to see the Lapland witches?" Cassandra asked excitedly.

"I guess, yeah," she replied, not wanting to correct her to-be companion for who knew how long. "We have to escape tonight, though. You've got some money, right?"

"Loads! Mum sends me a hundred pounds a year—she's filthy rich! I've got six hundred pounds."

"Good, now, let's get all our warm clothes and some food. Show me where the kitchen is at two in the morning—all the servants are sleeping at that time," she said calmly. She got out her black coat, put on two pairs of stockings, put on her sturdiest boots, and changed into a wool dress more for warmth and use than looks.

"I haven't got anything like this."

Lyra said, "Fine, borrow one of mine" and tossed a gray one. Her own was a light brown. Cassandra slipped out of her thin school uniform and put on the wool gray.

"Now what?" she asked. She grabbed a fancy plaid coat with fur lining inside. "Is this coat good enough?"

"I suppose it'll do." Lyra's valise contained nothing but her Arctic clothing, which would be necessary, and her alethiometer and Joseph's Orb. With Cassandra's boot-load of money, obviously it wouldn't be a trouble buying clothing or food. "Now, first, we're going to go to the gyptians places and see if Ma Costa's there."

Lyra took a deep breath as if she were about to plunge into cold water. In a way she was, because she was about to venture back into the world of thievery, trickery, murders, adventures, and danger of the unknown. She quietly opened the door, making sure it didn't squeak or creak. Silently as Pantalaimon used to be in mouse form, they tiptoed to the kitchen and saw no lights. Lyra and Cassandra grabbed a bag and packed the lightest but most filling things, like bread—sourdough bread which wouldn't spoil so very easily—the whole shredded chicken meat that the cook was going to have for tomorrow's supper, dried meat, and the most necessary—water.

So, they opened the door with Lyra's expert lock-picking, and stole away in the middle of the night.

Lyra remembered the exhilarating feeling of being free, and here she was—experiencing it! Cassandra smiled and breathed in the fresh, cold air that whipped their faces. While they were walking, Lyra thought about where to go next. Of course she couldn't go to Jordan College—that would be stupid. If they couldn't find the gyptians, then they'd go to Bristol or somewhere where people would only know them as two little girls wandering.

"Let's go here," Lyra whispered and pointed toward Jordan. If she started out at Jordan, she could trace where the gyptians were, from the market or from the river Isis. She gazed at the master architecture that was erected all around Jordan.

Well, she was at Jordan and the river Isis was to the right. The gyptians were near the market on the other side of the Isis. Without speaking, she turned left toward the market.

The market was silent and eerie at night, with shadows dancing and lurking all around. Sometimes, a candle would shine and the two girls would start. They'd been walking for about an hour now, and they needed to pick up pace. At five, people would start to come here to work, so Lyra and Cassandra would be noticeable. Lyra had a knotted feeling in her stomach and her spine prickled with awareness. She didn't dare to speak, because someone might hear her.

They passed the market with covered white tarp and came to a flat stretch of road with the Isis running on the right side. "Let's run," Lyra hoarsely said, shivering a little with fear. What if they got caught? If they were discovered, they would be killed for sure.

Tip-tap, tip-tap went their shoes as they sprinted to the gyptians wharves several thousand yards away. When they stopped, they saw that there were still lights from boats. Lyra started to look for the largest boat belonging to the Costas. She found an exceptionally large barge, stepped onto it with Cassandra following her behind, and knocked on the door.

"Yeah, who's comin—Lyra?" Ma Costa said sleepily. She rubbed her eyes with her large hands. "That en't Lyra?"

"Yeah, that's Lyra," Tony muttered through a yawn. "Don't wake up Billy; he's sleeping. Who's your pretty girl there?" he asked, pointing his thumb toward Cassie.

"Oh," Lyra murmured. "That girl's Cassandra. She's escaping with me."

"Well, what the hell did you come for?" Tony continued. Cassandra looked shocked and offended from the bad language; though Lyra could hardly call it bad compared to what she could say if she was mad.

"It's a long story," she replied wearily. "Let me and Cassie sit down, will ya? We've been walking for two hours."

"Of course," Ma Costa hurriedly said and ushered them to two driftwood chairs. Both girls sank down tiredly and rubbed their eyes. "Maybe you two should go to bed—,"

"No!" Lyra exclaimed. "No, we en't gonna go to bed till we tell you what's going on. Until I tell you what's going on."

"Start," Tony yawned and sat down on another chair.

So Lyra depicted her story of finding Joseph's Orb and what she saw. "You see, the Master gave me the orb and then he never told me what to do with it. Well, I saw—I saw Will in there, and he's not right. Mary Malone—the scienti—experimental theologian from Will's world, yeah, I saw her too. And then there was a sword—I dunno what, but Will and I or just either of us—fighting something huge, larger than Jordan College stacked steeple to steeple and roof to roof. So, I wanna see Serafina Pekkala and ask her what it's all about."

When she ended, everything fell silent. "Well?" Lyra asked. "You have anything to say or cat got yer tongue?"

"No, nothing," Ma Costa grunted as she stood up. "Well, we all ought to be in bed. We'll talk more later—it's nearly four in the morning. Good Lord, girl, how long have you been traveling?"

"Since two in the morning," she replied simply. Lyra yawned and laid her head on the table. Her eyes wanted to drift close every time she yawned, and it seemed that she would have to submit to her overwhelming urge to rest. "Cassie—watch the orb…" she murmured indistinctly. But Cassie was already asleep.

As her head rested on her arms and she fell asleep, Ma Costa and Tony shook their heads. "She's plumb worn out," Tony sighed. "My Lord, this girl is strong."

Ma Costa gazed at the two sleeping girls and watched her dark-blond haired girl's back rise and fall a little in time with her slow, steady breathing. "I feel sorry for the poor girl—she's been pining about that boy ever since last year and she's got no parents. I'd like to adopt her, if I could..."

"But you can't," Tony finished sorrowfully. "I've taken a fancy to her."

The strong young man carried the two girls one by one to the large bed. He and his mother could make do with sleeping on bunks, for the girls' sakes.

"What do you mean Lyra and Cassandra's not there?" Dame Hannah demanded of the servants.

Elsie, the cook, shook her head. "I dunno. They're good kids, all right, but we en't know what they done or where they gone to."

"Maids—Under-maids?"

"None," the maids and under-maids replied in unison.

Dame Hannah gave a sigh. "I'm alerting the authorities about this."

When Lyra woke up with the Sandman's dust in her eyes, she flinched a little at her new surroundings, and then she realized that she was on Ma Costa's barge. She turned to her right—she felt a warm figure next to her. It was Cassandra.

It was made dark for the girls—the black blinds were over the only window in the room, and whatever light that filtered through made the room grayish in color.

Aware of the awkwardness, she got up immediately and found that she was in a nightgown that swamped her. It was one of Ma Costa's, she guessed, and so she changed out of it, put on her shift and gown, pulled on her stockings and shoes, and ran her fingers through her somewhat medium-long, unkempt, slightly tangled and snarled dark blond hair.

She wandered to the main section of the boat and found no one there. It was late morning, because she could hear people talking outside, the clatter and clank of carts, the busy bustle of the market and sellers hawking their wares. The sunlight was diluted through the window with the shades. Obviously, Ma Costa or Tony had not wanted anyone to see her and Cassandra. The ship smelled slightly musty and fishy, she noticed.

She decided to look at her orb again and ran back to her room for her bag full of food to eat. She got a slice of bread, a sliver of dried meat and sat contentedly in a chair with her silver orb by her side. She was ravenous and nauseous with hunger, and so she devoured the food greedily. The bread was slightly stale, but still rather fresh and soft, if a little squashed. The dried meat was salty and hard to chew, but she enjoyed the flavor. Her hunger abated, so she looked at the empty orb and admired the designs that she'd just noticed.

The orb had intricate patterns of stars, moons, and everything silvery light. Everything reflected in the orb was graceful and elaborate, making Lyra's medium-pretty teenager face look like a girl a man would die for. Only Will would die for her, and he was in another world, separated by a barrier. Her throat ached and her heart ached again, but she forced herself to be cheery. Pining for a boy wouldn't do in such a hard, cold world.

"Well, how are you?" a female voice asked. Lyra jumped. She glanced behind her, for that was where the sound came from, and saw Cassandra.

"Fine." Lyra stuffed the orb back into her pocket, but it was too late. Cassandra already saw it.

"What's that?"

"Joseph's Orb," Lyra said and resignedly handed the orb to her roommate. "It's supposed to tell the future and stuff, like Joseph's dreams about rising above his brothers."

"Wow, it's so intricate!" She bit the bottom of her lip. Lyra could see that she was embarrassed of being in awe of just an object, but she paid no attention. "Here's it back."

"Thanks." She put it back into her pocket again just as Ma Costa and Tony clomped in with their boots. Their coats were sparkling with little pearls of water that coruscated in what little light there was. Ma Costa turned on the stove and held her hand close to the flat metal surface. As soon as it was hot, she took off her coat and shook it so that the drops hissed, sputtered, and danced. Tony did the same. "Well, are you hungry?" Ma Costa asked. She looked at the thin body of Lyra and the plumper one of Cassandra. "Anyway, I'm making dinner for you—it's nearly twelve in the morning."

Tony went out and carried back in fish that had been gutted, de-scaled, and its innards taken out. Ma Costa put a little oil on the stove and watched it move its way around the flat, hot metal surface and the little drops fly out like sparks from a piece of metal on an anvil. As soon as the stove started smoking a little, Ma Costa flopped the fish on the surface and all heard the food sizzle temptingly. The smell made their mouths water, but they could only watch the fishes plop onto the plates—one fish for everyone.

As soon as dinner was ready, they ate quickly, though both girls didn't know why. But as Ma Costa bused the dishes, she told them. "The authorities are looking for you two, especially you, Lyra. Hide under the ship, both you girls, and if I hear you make a noise, I swear, I'll not help you. Now, go."

They hid under the boat for two cramped hours while their daemons snuggled contentedly besides them.


	3. North At Last

"Can't you make the barge's hold bigger?" Lyra asked after they got out.

"Where's Tony—he's not here." Cassandra dusted off her dress, covered in dirt. "Ooh, it smells like fish." She wrinkled her nose.

"Shh," Ma Costa hushed. "The authorities are on other peoples' boats—but that en't to say that they won't come back."

"Huh! You know, I bet you haven't been stuck down there, all cramped and squashed!"

"Actually, I have, dear."

This entranced Lyra, for she had nothing else to do and besides, it was always interesting to hear about Ma Costa—a powerful woman, blunt but kind, broad but always gentle. "Tell me—and Cassandra too."

"Well…remember when the times before Lord Asriel beat the Water Act—well, you're too young, but anyway, we had to hide when we got to illegal parts and we were nearly caught, but thanks to that hold, the authorities just thought that the boats were left alone…Oh, Tony's back."

"All clear," he announced. He seemed to bear a weight on him that didn't belong. Tony swept off his hat in one fluid motion and clapped Lyra on the back. "You've got guts, girl." Then he sat down on a chair and pulled up some papers. "Remember John Faa and Farder Coram?" he asked Ma Costa and Lyra.

"Who are they?" Cassandra asked timidly, a little abashed by this handsome young man several years older than him.

"Oh, John Faa's the leader and Farder Coram's a smart old man." Lyra glanced absentmindedly at Cassandra's question and urged Tony to go on. "Well, hurry up and don't keep us waiting…"

"Farder Coram died and he's gonna be buried at the next roping." Tony's words were like church bells: final and ringing. He shook his head sadly.

Farder Coram's dead?" Lyra shouted, half shocked. "What? He en't dead—no, he en't!"

"I'm afraid so, girl," Ma Costa sighed. "I'm sorry, girl."

"He en't dead—you're lying! You gotta be lying—he couldn't be dead even if you tried to stab a knife through 'im, you wouldn't!" Lyra turned over her chair abruptly and with frustration, not caring that it banged against her leg—it didn't hurt in the numbness that invaded her body. But some part of her told her that he had to be dead; that part was her older self, no longer the wild old Lyra. She turned the chair right, sat down on it heavily, and started crying passionately. She was ashamed of crying, but the past few years had taken a toll on her.

"I'm sorry, girl, I'm sorry," Ma Costa and Tony repeated, patting the girl's back.

It was night when she finally settled down somewhat, and even so, she kept her mouth clamped tight and refused to let a word escape. Ma Costa, an elder, realized that Lyra was disguising her grief as anger. "Poor girl," she muttered as she cooked the fen eels and cooked up some grits. "She's en't taking it well, what with her parent dead and all that."

Lyra found an empty pit in her heart where Farder Coram should've been. She picked at her grits and fen eels a little until she realized she was hungry through halfway of the meal and ate it all up slowly, if not enthusiastically.

"At least she's eating," Ma Costa commented to her son as she cleaned the dishes. "I've known people who say they en't gonna eat till summin' happens, and often it's not good."

"Well, she en't the type to go into a passion and all that—only if she's desperate and has no control," Tony grunted as he cleaned his musket and inserted new, shiny, rosy lead bullets with cloth wrapped around his fingers into the barrel of the gun. "She's a strange one."

Cassandra, meanwhile, was completely bewildered at her companion's behavior. She had no idea who and what and how was happening, and so she did nothing to console Lyra's grief.

Lyra sat on her bunk, punching the wooden walls; the _thump-thumps_ could be heard from Ma Costa's and Tony Costa's places; she set her mouth in a kind of pout, a disagreeable expression that suggested anger and sadness all at once. Her eyes, so Cassandra thought, seemed to emanate a kind of malicious spirit, but there was a catch to it—a hidden layer underneath the outside.

Lyra was heartbroken at her old friend. She clenched her jaw to make sure she didn't cry again—she was embarrassed and a little indignant of herself to be crying for two times in two weeks. But when she saw that Cassandra, Ma Costa, and Tony had all gone to bed quietly and that there were no noises save for the rustling of water, the chirp-chirp of crickets and the occasional clank-thump of the engine, she exhaled, letting loose a heaviness that had settled on her chest ever since her parents had died. But she still felt heavy, so heavy.

Lyra unclasped her hands that led to her arms encircled around her knees. Pantalaimon, an owl still, gave a barely-heard soft hoot of sadness. "I miss him already, Pan, and he's not even buried," Lyra whispered to the darkness and to Pan's glowing eyes. Exhausted by the day's events and fretful exertion, she eventually fell asleep with Pan's soft hoots echoing throughout the night.

"You mean to tell me the authorities have not found Lyra Belacqua and Cassandra Perkins?" Dame Hannah raged. She stopped pacing, gave a deep sigh, and ran her hands through her sleek silver hair. "Well, tighten up the security…" She stopped once more. "Are the Gobblers back?" she asked fearfully to the constable.

"No, they can't," the policeman said. "We demolished all of them about a year ago."

"Well, still, keep the investigation running."

"Yes, ma'am."

The funeral for Farder Coram was not pleasant, at the very least. All the gyptians showed their grief for Farder Coram's death, moaning, wailing, or weeping. Lyra cringed at the noise, not being used to such "cannibalistic" rituals, as she called it. Still, she showed her support by laying a rose on Farder Coram's coffin, which showed how much she loved him as a friend.

Ma Costa, Tony, Lyra, and Cassandra were the only ones who didn't weep, but they felt it all the same. Ma Costa and Tony hung their heads, while Lyra stared at the coffin and Cassandra bit her bottom lip. Lyra's heart seemed to ache, much like she felt for Will, which reminded her…she needed to ask Serafina Pekkala.

The great Lord John Faa hung his head as well, and when she got up close to hug him, she saw two tears roll down his cheek. John Faa gave Lyra a clap on the back and sent her back to Ma Costa and her friends.

A sudden disturbance made everyone jump. Ma Costa and Tony gazed at someone, while Cassandra gawped and the gyptians were awestruck. Lyra, however, looked to see Serafina Pekkala's slender, elegant, graceful figure enter the Zaal. "Greetings, gyptians," she rang out in tones like the Aurora Borealis, high, sweet, and somehow a type of unbound wildness about it. "I have come to pay my respects to Farder Coram."

"Serafina!" Lyra shouted without thinking. When she realized what she'd done, she blushed until her cheeks were pink and she felt hot all over. Her body burned as if she'd gotten sunburned all of a sudden.

Serafina Pekkala must have spotted the girl, because she headed towards her way with everyone parting graciously to her, as if she was royalty. When the witch came face-to-face with Lyra, she smiled sorrowfully. "Ah, Lyra Silvertongue. You have grown wise and strong since I have last seen you. You are here to pay your respects to Farder Coram as well?"

She nodded, remembering Farder Coram's attachment to Serafina. So, the witch had come in remembrance of her lover. Or rather, in remembrance of his love to her, instead of vice versa.

Serafina walked up to the coffin, hung her head in a swift, flickering motion, like a lamp flashing, and laid a flower, a red camellia on the coffin. "Farder Coram, I give you my token of honor," she said in a barely-heard voice. No one, Lyra thought, could hear it except her. When the witch finally got up from her kneeling position, Lyra could see the faint shimmering outlines of tears rolling down her cheeks, but just barely.

"Lyra Silvertongue," Serafina said calmly, "may I speak with you?"

"Oh!" Lyra burst out. "Um, yeah."

Serafina led her out the Zaal and onto a wharf just outside. "Lyra Silvertongue, not all is right in this—in fact, all—worlds. Now that the knife is shattered, it prevents anyone else from using it to cut open between worlds and leak Dust, but there is no way to close them."

"So," Lyra quavered, "what do I do?"

"You have to find Will. The only way to seal off the worlds—permanently—so that no one can tamper with Dust is to combine what you have in your pocket, the alethiometer, and the knife—untouched as it is now—together."

Lyra couldn't help but feel her heart jump in excitement. "So…I'm…going to see Will…again?" she said slowly.

Serafina gave a little smile through her tears. This child was innocent on the affairs of love. "Yes," she chuckled.

She gave a large smile but sobered. "What'll I do then, with Cassandra?"

"She'll be needed at a part of your journey."

"What part?" Lyra took out the alethiometer and tried to make sense of it, but found that she could not, just like so many times before.

"You'll see." Serafina's smile disappeared. "Now, go—go! If the authorities find that you are here, they will punish you." She got on her cloud-pine branch, but the girl tugged on her ragged-yet-elegant black sleeve.

"I need your help getting to Will's world."

"Meet me next week, where the next Roping will be held, at exactly the right time, twelve at midnight sharp. If you do not, you will have completely missed the chance. The Aurora only comes at certain times." Serafina kissed the child's warm and smooth cheek. "Good-bye, Lyra Silvertongue."

Back at the barge, Lyra couldn't contain her excitement to Ma Costa and Tony. A part of her consciousness told her to include Cassandra, but this news just couldn't wait to some of her best friends. "Ma Costa, Tony, I'm going to the North!" she shouted. "Serafina's gonna take me on her branch and all!" She knew she was exaggerating, even though she shouldn't have. She shrugged off her doubts.

But Ma Costa and Tony didn't share her excitement. "Whoa, girl, you remember when I promised to take care of you?" Ma Costa said.

"My mother, she en't gonna let go of you that easily," Tony agreed. "How do we know you're safe on other worlds?"

"You mean you en't gonna let me go to his world?" She was wilted now, her eyes suddenly lost of their sparkling excitement only a few minutes before.

"No, no, I don't mean that—I mean that we have no idea what's going on where you're going." Ma Costa got up and began to fry some eels.

"Well, you never cared about that before."

"Ah, I dunno." She turned over the fish. "Maybe it's just because I'm the one that brought you up, or least I thought."

She suddenly felt a little rivulet of pity for the woman who'd cared for her since childhood. "I'll be all right."

"Guess things will," she chuckled—with a wry smile from Ma Costa.

Over the next few days, the Costas helped Lyra and Cassandra get some proper equipment for the North: goggles, compasses (since the alethiometer's meanings were indistinct), mittens, gloves, toiletries and all, and the proper Arctic clothing. Cassandra's clothing was made for warmer weather, not the cold, harsh icy winds in the North.

"You'll need a parka…with wolverine fur because that sheds the ice that's formed, mittens, something made of reindeer…that'll keep you really cozy…" Lyra went on, piling her friend's arms with furs of all colors, from tawny to deer to luxurious, speckled gray...

And then came the checking of authorities, which bothered everyone, most of all Lyra and Cassie, because once they had to squeeze in the bottom of the ship for four hours with the authorities' boots clomping up and down the wooden planks of the boat, while the cracks of the planks dripped in water, the hold of the boat dank and wet with sea-water, and the fact that there was extremely little space to fit in Ma Costa, who was rather stout, Lyra figured, so it was a miracle that she and Cassandra could fit. Pantalaimon and Coppelius were snuggled about their necks rather like chokers, warm and furry, soft and cuddly. The daemons slept and slept without a sound as the authorities boomed orders to soldiers, generals, and officials to search closely.

Lyra's heart gave a sudden burst of panic, felt a queasy slippery feeling in her stomach, and her heart jumped into her throat—if they knew what she had; she and her friend would be in trouble. But she remembered that Ma Costa had hidden it in an ingenious place—the place right below where they were lying down on, that little watertight space. There was waterproof seal-intestine surrounding snugly the contents of her bags, so that nothing could possibly get out.

The noise of the engine humming, purring, and clanking was clangorous and nearly drowned out the authorities' orders until Ma Costa rapped on the wood above their heads; it was a hard, solid rap, quite different from the clumsy footsteps of the policemen. "You can come on up now," she said. "They're gone."

"When will they stop interrupting our schedules?" Tony grumbled. "It's nearly time for tonging, and I need to go out far to catch 'em."

"Patience, boy."

"Tomorrow's a week after…you know," Lyra stated uncertainly. "I've gotta go to the North tomorrow."

"We better pack." Cassandra fiddled with her boot-lace and looked down at a paper of celestial geography. This was the type of silence enough to make you clap your hands over your ears and hum to yourself just to make sure you weren't deaf.

"Yeah, we better," she agreed; she picked up the papers of celestial geography, her once-discarded coat, checked her pocket to make sure the orb was there, and went back to her hold.

When her friend was sleeping, Lyra closed the blinds and locked the door to feel safer. She felt strangely discarded and very aware of her surroundings. She changed into her nightgown and snuggled into bed with Pantalaimon hooting beside her. He had not changed these past few days. Luckily, he was a rather idealistic-sized owl, not too large to fit in Lyra's pocket and hide along with her under the boat, nor was he too small to have enough stamina to fly for many, many miles unstopping and, of course—his favorite thing to do—create a ruckus.

At the Zaal at eleven—they were early so they wouldn't be late—the two girls sat inside the seats of the Zaal, having nothing much to talk at late in the night. At times they stared at the coffin or the sky; at times they whispered about Ma Costa, Tony, John Faa, or Farder Coram (all brought up by Cassandra), much to Lyra's discomfort.

They were all bundled up in deliciously warm furs. A cold wind was blowing over the Isis tonight, and the furs kept their body temperature constant. As for their regular coats, Lyra doubted that those garments would have kept them warm.

Minute by minute the night grew harsher and harsher as it turned closer to midnight. Pan and Coppelius shivered inside the girls' coats and the girls themselves curled up into a ball to keep warm, though they didn't shiver. Their bodies seemed to be invaded with a type of cold that was black and malicious, even though there was no reason why it should have felt like that. Lyra looked up at the sky once more and wondered: _when is Serafina going to come?_

She got her answer when two ragged shapes landed outside. She got up, grabbed her little sack containing food and alethiometer, and ran through the door. Cassandra followed.

Serafina was there, all right, but she put her index finger on her lip, indicating to be silent, and motioned for them to get up on her broom. Another witch did the same. Lyra climbed on the branch, but before she did so, she tucked her bag in an inside large pocket hidden in the lining of her coat worn inside her furs. The branch felt unsteady; she gripped Serafina's shoulders for support. Serafina smiled as she glanced backward to the dark-blond haired girl. Cassandra apparently had a little more trouble, but she managed, and soon, they were ready to take flight.

How Lyra could describe the speed and swiftness at which they flew, she could not. It was exhilarating, so delightful, to be flying over the whole of England in the middle of the night. The wind whipped her face and stung her mittened hands, even, but it felt refreshing. She looked down and saw Parliament, the Thames, the London Bridge, and then it was all gone in a flash, and she saw Scotland's Aberdeen. That was all gone by in a second's time as well, and they were soaring over the sea. The altitude at which they were flying made her dizzy to look down at the waves that eternally shifted and rolled back on its edges. She looked upwards for a minute and saw the stars, the pure milky-white glow of the moon, unmarked by clouds and the night was pure blackish-purple, the perfect evening.

They continued over the sea for a while, until she saw white upon white and light icy blue when she looked down. "The North!" she exclaimed hoarsely, for she had not spoken for quite a while now. She looked sideways toward the left and saw that Cassandra was gazing in awe at the astonishing view and smiled.

When they reached the tundra, the witches started to come down and Lyra felt a sickening drop in her stomach as they rapidly descended to the ground. Cassandra was shutting her eyes and had a grimace on her face, which meant she did not like it. But Lyra did.

All of a sudden, Serafina hopped off her broom—or rather swept off her broom with the elegance—and Lyra followed, unhooking her legs and stretching them on the ground. It was cold, but there were trees. She looked up and saw white. She knew exactly where they were, even though Cassandra's visions might not have been like this.

"We're finally back to the North."


	4. Deception

Cassandra was confused. "We aren't in the North. There's no ice." She gazed at the tall, grayish-brown-green trees and the slightly wet ground underfoot.

"We are in the North," she insisted stubbornly and childishly. "Ask Serafina!"

When Cassandra did so, Serafina nodded. "We are in the North indeed, as Lyra Silvertongue says so. We will be going to Dr. Lanselius at Lapland, which is halfway on our journey to the far North, where you can see the Aurora. It is about ten days' vigorous walk from here to the far North, though it would be even faster with my cloud-pine branch, but I fear you are not accustomed to the cold."

"Don't you mind the cold?" Cassandra asked. It was the same question Lyra had asked.

Serafina smiled again. "No, I do not mind the cold, for I would rather live through it to see and hear the wild singing of the Aurora, the beautiful and vast landscape of the virgin-white snow up here. Witches do not feel the cold as you do." She gave a sigh, rather like a human, but with more feeling, clarity, and depth that a human could ever give. There was a trace of oldness about her, a kind of set maturity.

Lyra found herself growing jealous. Cassandra was stealing all the attention. So she butted in. "I imagine you'll look like sixteen at six hundred, with the way you're going," she said eagerly.

"Not quite. I think you mean my looks will be like that, but I can assure you, my mind is a different matter. I look the part of twenty, do I not?" When the girls nodded, she went on. "My mind, in fact, is much older than you think."

"Kaisa," she said to her daemon, "fly to Dr. Lanselius and tell him we will be arriving in five days' time by walk. Then give us directions. We will wait here until you come back." The snow-white goose flapped her powerful wings, uttered a desolate cry, and soared up into the sky, disappearing in the whiteness.

Cassandra was staring at Serafina, frightened.

"I am not dangerous at all, Cassandra."

"How d'you know my name then?" she cried out.

"Lyra told me, of course." Serafina turned to Lyra and said, "Make sure she understands my situation, but under no circumstances are you to explain what we both went through." She and Lyra both closed their eyes remembering each their own painful journey. "Under no circumstances," she repeated, this time a little hesitantly.

"Cassandra," Lyra began, "Serafina knows your name 'cause she's heard me say it. And don't be scared about her daemon, because her daemon can part from her if she wants. It doesn't hurt any bit."

"Ah," Cassandra said and nodded. Lyra sighed. For a companion, she was one slow to understand, and sometimes, she couldn't afford that mistake. But nevertheless, she was stuck with her for life.

Serafina said no more as they paced. According to Lyra's pocket-watch, it was seven in the morning and still quite as bright as day. She understood why Serafina didn't say anything: it still felt odd to have your daemon leave you like that, and you still felt abandoned, even though it wasn't so the case.

At last, Kaisa returned and Serafina shot him a kind look to welcome him back. "Dr. Lanselius has received the information," Kaisa said. "We must go on."

They started walking. There were trees surrounding everywhere and it seemed like they would and could not disperse or start appearing more sporadically. Lyra's heart sank further and further as they walked deeper and deeper into this vast, enormous forest that was part of the tundra. Her feet were starting to ache on her soles and she was sure Pantalaimon was getting a little tired by now.

All of the sudden, the trees disappeared. Lyra rubbed her eyes to make sure she wasn't dreaming or anything and looked behind her. The tundra had disappeared. "Where are we staying?" she asked wearily, for it was six in the morning.

Serafina replied, "We're staying with the nearby clan, Yumubka, and they will welcome you. I have ensured that your journey will be safe."

"Thank you, Serafina," she said with heartfelt emotion. The witch had really made sure that she would have no trouble crossing the Arctic. She gave her a hug, and surprisingly, Serafina returned it.

Lyra's eyes were drooping and felt like lead as they plodded on; she hadn't slept in eighteen hours now, and it was six in the evening. "Oh, can I rest?" she groaned. She sat down on the ground, leant against a rock, and started sleeping. She felt a delicate hand on her left one and it pulled her up. Her eyes opened. For a female, Serafina was strong.

"You may rest as soon as we have set up tents for you. The night wind is harsh and you do not want to be frozen alive."

Cassandra chuckled, thinking the statement a joke.

"It is not jesting, Cassandra. The wind can freeze you in a matter of hours. You may go to bed one night and never wake up."

With the new shock and fear in their minds, Lyra and Cassandra set up their blue tents, one each for a girl. They split up the food into half so that each could consume her half as quickly as she chose, and then they parted and said goodnight.

There was a sleeping bag, and she didn't bother to change into any nightgown. She snuggled into the sleeping bag and nearly fell asleep. But she had a question about Serafina: what was her journey like into the Underworld?

She closed her eyes and resolved to ask in the morning. Her depleted strength helped her drift off into darkness.

She wasn't sure if it was a dream later on, but it was definitely a night-ghast, she decided. The night-ghast began as her journey to the Arctic. But she lost Cassandra and started to panic. And then, all of the sudden, Serafina disappeared with alarm. But as she went on in the woods calling their name, there was an unknown somebody tracing her steps. Heart pounding, she turned around and saw no one there, but when she looked back, she nearly jumped and her heart stopped for a second. It was a human without a daemon, starved and cold, like poor Tony Makarios. But it had no face, and where its face should've been was just skin. She screamed.

Lyra woke up and patted all over her face to make sure she had features. She had them. Her heart was beating as quickly as it had in the dream, and somehow or the other, she ended up crying of fright. She was too scared to realize she was crying again.

Serafina opened her tent, but she jumped. "What happened?" she asked.

"Nothin'," Lyra muttered. "Just a bad dream's all."

Serafina went in and hugged Lyra anyway. It was a kind of awkward hug but soothing nevertheless. Pan hooted loudly from fear as well, and Kaisa went in to comfort him.

"D'you think that the dream was a symbol?" she asked Serafina when she narrated the night-ghast.

"I am not sure of your meaning, but it holds some importance. Did something happen, like you saw a daemon-less human?"

"Uh-huh, and interacted with one, too," she breathed. "It scared me." She started hyperventilating at the image forever burned into her mind: a human without a daemon, incomplete and starved, like a beast, a mutilated person.

"You are among friends, Lyra Silvertongue, and you are not alone, however it may seem," Serafina said quietly, in a deep velvet tone, quite unlike the high singing during the day.

"Serafina, what was your journey into the Underworld like?" Lyra asked, aware that it might cause pain. She phrased the question so that Serafina would have to answer but didn't need to stick to specifics, if it was too much. She knew how much pain it could cause thinking about it too much—it hurt like a bruise. Every time something touched it, the bruise hurt and ached. If thinking all the details about it hurt, then talking was sure to hurt even more.

"It was…agony," Serafina started, closing her eyes and expression changing. "At first I thought that my daemon had left me for punishment and I remember that it hurt too much to travel a long way." She rocked slightly back and forth but steadied herself. "It hurts a little bit now, because I've just separated the bond between daemon and human, although we still remain as one full being together. The bond is broken but I still wish it were there to keep us together, though it is endlessly useful in many ways."

"Same way I feel about Pan sometimes," Lyra agreed. Ever since she and Pan had broken the bond, she felt empty inside, just a little bit which seemed little but was in fact a lot. "It's a lot worse than I think it is."

"So it is," Serafina echoed. She got up. "Well, we should be arriving at Dr. Lanselius's place in four days, if we keep up this pace. Sooner, if Cassandra can walk half as fast as you." Lyra understood why she wanted to change the topic.

"Uh-huh. You know—well, I bet you knew already—I let the people from the dead go back to their own worlds…so did Will. We left an opening for the dead people to become truly dead, not ghosts…"—she shuddered—"wandering around like that." She looked up. "Was that right?"

"I do not know much…" Serafina said, and then she walked out of the tent.

Lyra was aware that Serafina treated her much like a daughter, a loved one. Mrs. Coulter had only done that once, and against Lyra's own will. But Serafina had cuddled her when she had a bad dream, soothed her half-wild thought that naturally comes when one has a night-ghast. Pantalaimon was still an owl, but he perched on her shoulder and hooted.

The journey was harsh on everyone. Serafina grew weary of rounding up the daemons, including her own, which seemed to have an unusual sense of independence. Lyra could see the slightly dark circles forming under her perfect light-mint-green eyes and the sunken eye hollows that came from deprived sleep. She felt sorry for the witch, but she had her own share of troubles as well.

The alethiometer was _not _getting clearer every day. In fact, it grew more hazy and muddled as her mind progressed to an adult's. She felt dizzy at times, knowing what power the alethiometer had; she had not pictured nor processed it through her consciousness as a child.

And she was frustrated to the point of breaking down. Nobody, it seemed, would cooperate with her, including Cassandra and her daemons. The witches were an easy matter, but getting a stampede of daemons and an unwilling girl was a lot for her to handle. Every day, she woke up, gritted her teeth, and reminded herself that it was her duty now, since Serafina was exhausted and was just tagging along with them. It was all at the last minute, and the rations were running low.

One night she did break down and cry, cursing the weather, her friend, and all the tiresome daemons that would not be rounded up into a group. She kicked a tree but found that it wasn't enough. "Damn it, damn everyone!" she screamed. A lump was in her throat and she tried to swallow it, but she was too tired and worn down to do anything about it: she had not slept sufficiently for five days and the weather, unrelenting, was hindering them. She was hungry, she was tired, she was sleepy, and most of all, her mind was fragile and her nerves so raw, if anything started to irritate them, she'd scream inwardly and have to shut her mouth to not break out and explode into a million pieces. "Damn Cassandra," she muttered under her breath. "Damn her," she repeated.

Pan changed just one more time, as a brownish-grayish wolf, handsome and shatteringly beautiful. He nuzzled his wet, cold nose to Lyra's and she patted him. Her nose was frozen and so was her face. She all of a sudden hated the Arctic weather and the fact that it was taking too long. She had blisters on her feet and sore soles. She was tired beyond belief, beyond the point when she'd gone rescuing the kids from the Gobblers, her mother's group.

Lyra took out the orb and placed it in front of her, on the snow. She looked into it, falling into a trance much like when she'd been able to read the alethiometer, but this time, she was quite aware of her trance, and she felt her mind gathering pictures, like Will, Mary Malone, and her father. The images appeared in the orb. She saw Will's face with dark hair handsomely framing his forehead, the kind plump figure of Mary Malone, and her father, with powerful dark eyes, chiseled face, long hair, and an expression that could shatter glass with its authority and soberness.

The images were wrong now, and she jumped up, though she didn't take her eyes off. Her stomach churned at the following images, all distorted and grotesque. Lord Asriel's face was now mingled with Mrs. Coulter's elegant, dangerous face, and together, they formed a whole new fear-inducing being; Will's face was contorted in pain for some odd reason, and Mary Malone—with red clotted blood all over her face but not Mary's, thank God.

Her eyes grew wide and she gave a gasp at the seemingly fearful hallucinations the orb produced. She buried it with snow quickly and ran towards Serafina. She ran away from the orb, in the direction her stomach-churning, heart-in-her-throat fear told her to go, where her legs would follow. "Serafina," she gasped. She tugged on the witch's sleeve and half dragged her over to the orb. Serafina bent down and gazed into it. "Are you crazy?" Lyra screamed, tugging the orb away unsuccessfully. "Don't look into it!"

But Serafina was immune. She stared at it for a minute, and then she blinked. Serafina looked away and tucked it into a bag. "You are right," Serafina said. She took a deep breath for some unknown reason, and then continued, "This is a dangerous object, not your Joseph's Orb as I remember it."

"You remember what the blasted orb looked like?"

"Quite clearly," Serafina replied. "It was translucent gold and it was large, about the size of your head, perhaps bigger, and when you opened it, there were indentations for what looked like a knife, a large compass, and something I do not know nor remember."

"Knife…and large compass…" Lyra murmured. At once she knew what the two indentations were. "Alethiometer and Subtle Knife!" she gasped. "It's gotta be those two!"

The witch nodded. "You are quite correct."

"So what do we do now?"

"We will go to Dr. Lanselius's still and discuss our next leg of our journey, so to put it," was the witch's amusing reply.

Cassandra came running up to them. "Serafina, how come Pantalaimon isn't by Lyra's body?" she asked, interrupting their conversation.

"Wait for a moment, will ya?" said Lyra, annoyed. Then she turned back to Serafina. "What's the third object?" she asked in a low tone, for Cassandra was about a hundred yards away from them, and without objects to stop the sound waves, she'd hear their conversation quite clearly.

"I told you, I do not know," Serafina insisted, but there was something in her eyes that made Lyra believe that that wasn't all there was to it. Lyra broke their eye contact, vivid blue with olive green.

"Cassandra," Lyra started. "Remember? Pan and I went through the same thing as Serafina, right?"

"I'm sorry, I just en't seen a daemon without their human close by before, asides Serafina." Cassandra looked at the bag Serafina was holding. "Oh, can I take a look at the orb?"

"No!" Lyra shouted. But in a gentler tone, she repeated, "No, you can't. No, no, no. You can't look at it—"

"Why not?" was the insistent reply from the asker.

"You just can't," Lyra replied wearily. "Just—just go and find our daemons. We gotta walk more today before night. Well, what I call night, since the sun never sets."

Cassandra sighed and controlled her insatiable curiosity, Lyra could see that much. With another little sigh, the black-haired, plumper girl went trudging off into the thin covering of snow to find Pantalaimon and Kaisa.

When they finally found them quite a few hours later, it was night, and they'd accomplished nothing much but just that Lyra's orb was not Joseph's Orb.

Serafina made a fire with some kind of spell that wouldn't go out even with the most miserable conditions, and in a large pot they added chunks of dried meat in snow, softened it, and crumbled the stale bread into it to make stew. "It should last us a couple of days," Serafina estimated.

"It'd better," Lyra answered grumpily. She was dizzy and sick with hunger, and only when she ate the stew did her hunger subside a little, though she still was nauseous, on the verge of throwing up, it seemed. She swallowed to make sure she wasn't about to throw up; it was terrible, the hunger, and she might freeze to death if she didn't have enough to eat.

As they walked on day by day, Kaisa was occasionally sent out to report to see if they were getting closer. At last, on the tenth day, Kaisa flew back and said, "Dr. Lanselius's residence is now a mile away."

"Thank God," Lyra sighed, and sat down to relieve her aching feet. "We can take a break—I see a village only a half-mile away."

"Let's," Cassandra agreed. She sat down besides Lyra and closed her eyes.

"Hey! Don't sleep—it's only twelve o'clock, not yet tea!"

"Don't blame me, blame Pantalaimon and Coppelius," Cassandra mumbled sleepily. "I haven't slept for two days straight, and only two hours a day before that."

Lyra felt a little hurt of Pantalaimon, who was her daemon, but she supposed that he wasn't to blame, nor was Cassandra for slowing down.

At last, they saw Dr. Lanselius's little place, a bit dull but warm inside.

"Dr. Lanselius?" Serafina asked when she knocked on the door to his office. "Dr. Lanselius!"

Lyra thought that it was really quite odd that he wasn't there, and so she suggested, "Kick down the door and see what's going on."

What they did see made Lyra half-gag and freeze.

Dr. Lanselius was dead, with pools of blood all around his pale head, and there was no daemon to be seen.


	5. Aurora Borealis

Cassandra stopped and froze as well when she saw what happened. Pantalaimon gave a lonely howl that echoed chillingly through the cold air, and Coppelius, a beautiful cat like Farder Coram's daemon, Sophonax, mewed anxiously and hid his feline face behind Cassandra. Kaisa flew to Serafina and nudged her face, and she accepted the gesture of fear.

Lyra's heart was beating quickly and she felt half-dazed, even though she was sure that she was alive and all. "Oh, no," she murmured, "what happened to him?"

"I do not know," Serafina replied, regaining her composure first. "We will need to find Joseph's Orb, before anyone gets harmed."

"Wait," cried Cassandra, "what's that thing on the ground?" She was pointing to a letter in Dr. Lanselius's hands.

Lyra, not disgusted with blood although shocked at the aspect of murder, bent down and picked the paper up. "The Magisterium," she read out aloud. "If you continue doing this, Lyra Belacqua, we will ensure that you do not hinder our progress," it said, but there was no signature. It was written in red ink, blood-red ink. Lyra took a deep breath as shivers passed through her spine. "What do we do now?" she asked, voice cracking. She was strained through the hectic week, and all she wanted to do was get a decent night's rest, at least eight hours of sleep. "What now?" she repeated.

"We will rest before continuing our journey to the Aurora," Serafina answered quickly. "There is a lodge, rather cheap but of good quality, and I shall accompany you there, though I will keep a watch out at night; I do not like to stay inside a place where I cannot hear the Aurora sing."

"Right," Lyra said. "Right, yeah."

Well, the lodge was very cheap; it was only ten pounds a night, and with Cassandra's money, they could stay there for more than a year. The beds were comfortable, soft and warm, with very thick quilts and blankets to keep the sleeper warm.

When she did finally sleep, she tossed and turned. Lyra's head was haunted with Dr. Lanselius's dead body; his face screwed up in pain, the knife sticking in his back…it was just so…disgusting and shocking! She didn't have any other way to describe it. The image stayed in her head, so she opened her eyes just to make sure she wasn't dreaming or dead or lost in her imagination. The darkness enveloped her, but she could just make out a faint glimmer of light from a lamp. The light comforted her, though normally she embraced darkness. She trembled from the cold; the blankets were not quite yet sufficient to keep her warm.

She stared at the light until she was stiff with staying in one position and her eyelids felt like lead, but she refused to close them, in fear that the haunting image would frighten her again. At last, when she silently padded across the carpet floor, her feet nearly numb with cold, she picked up her chill metal pocket-watch at saw that the time was now eight in the morning. There was a little more daylight now, but she was tired from being a little nocturnal creature all night.

Serafina came in from keeping her vigil over them. "Lyra Silvertongue, you are awake?" she stated, though it came out more like a question.

"Mm," Lyra murmured. "I couldn't sleep all night—it's just that Dr. Lanselius's corpse scares me. No, not scares me—"

"It's all right to be frightened. I am, too."

"You? No, you're not scared of anything." Lyra said this with a little bit of scorn, just enough to place it differently from a petulant remark.

"Of course I am scared at time, Lyra Silvertongue," Serafina laughed, her voice smoother and ultimately more elegant than human laughter or sound. "No more of this topic—we will wait until everyone has rested—including me as well."

"How do you rest?" Lyra asked.

"It's a state of mind…how should I put it…you learn to calm your mind to understand rest. Every witch is taught how to do this from the moment they are old enough to speak."

"Wish I could learn, but we don't have enough time," Lyra yawned. "I'll give it a try, anyhow."

As soon as the next day's dawn hit through the windows, everyone was ready to go. Pan was walking by Lyra's side; this time he chose to after he overheard her confiding in Serafina. Cassandra had Coppelius, obedient, though not very close to her. Kaisa flew ahead of Serafina, telling them where to go in order to reach the far Northern reaches to see the Aurora, where the barriers between the worlds were thin.

They had food stolen from the lodge's kitchen, courtesy of Lyra's skillful nicking stuff out of the clangorous bustle. They now had more fresh bread, a whole five-pound package of dried meat, very useful, and they did not need water, for the snow was clean, but they did need a pot and a ladle. All objects were rather small but versatile, and so it was this way they set out to reach the Aurora.

The journey was easier than before, for absolutely no reason, though. Perhaps it was because their depleted strength had been recovered and their stomachs satisfactorily full, or maybe it was another whole different factor, but they all agreed that the weather was easier, their daemons were easier to handle, and that they were making fine progress, with rests every two or three hours.

When nighttime came, all were tired except Serafina; it seemed that she had been able to get her full share of rest while walking the whole day, and she claimed, "I am not exhausted; I do not need to sleep like humans, nor do I need to lie down to rest. I will keep a vigil over you."

"All right," the two girls and their daemons replied. They set up their tents and went to bed quickly, but Lyra still couldn't sleep.

She found that her mind was tortured by images of horrors she'd seen over the last two years, and while she was afraid to get up for fear of something snatching her, she desperately wanted to see Serafina and have her comfort Lyra. At last after lying in bed for a long while, she said to Pan, "I'm going to see Serafina," and girl and daemon walked outside.

She didn't find Serafina for a moment, and as she frantically searched for the witch, she found that her fear was growing, until she found the witch a few yards away from her. Lyra didn't know how she could've missed Serafina in the whiteness, but guessed that her fear had overpowered her sense of reason. She made a vow not to panic next time.

Serafina seemed to have been waiting for Lyra and Pan, and so witch, girl, and daemon huddled close together in the whiteness of the whole Arctic. A sense of peacefulness, something not found frequently in Lyra's hectic life, flooded her body, and she accepted it gratefully. Her spine seemed to relax and her muscles loosen up.

As they set out again a few hours later, Lyra found herself refreshed and ready for a long journey, even though she'd not slept very long. Walking no longer seemed like trudging about in the snow and tiresome; it seemed to be an exercise of good health and spirits. What a sense of peacefulness it was! thought Lyra. It lasted a whole day and more, it seemed, and it was a welcome sense of peacefulness. It was a type of tranquility, very strange and it made her slightly dizzy, but not in such a way that she hated it. In fact, she loved it, so she, for once, prayed to someone (there was no more Authority, God, the Lord, anymore) and thanked that someone for giving her that peace. It calmed and made her more reasonable. Her head was clear for once.

It was so that they passed into the cold realm of the North, wild and desolate, yet intricately and devastatingly beautiful.

There was ice all around them, and Cassandra, not accustomed to the cold, shivered but marveled at the beauty all around them, fragile and frosty. "It reminds me of a snow-queen, like in one of those olden stories that my mother used to tell," she jabbered on as they walked through with warm fur boots crunching through the snow, all but Serafina needed warm clothing.

"It does seem like it," Lyra agreed, even though she'd certainly never heard of any story like that. "Why don't we take a rest—we've been traveling for four hours straight."

"Yeah, let's," Cassandra said. They all sat down in the snow, and while Cassandra took off her hood for a second to comb through her messed-up hair, Lyra took out her alethiometer and stared at it.

As she gazed at the marvelously drawn pictures, she unconsciously turned the knobs to make the three arrows point to an hourglass, an anchor, and a man, not exactly sure what her hands were doing, but vaguely aware, just a little aware of the meaning. The large arrow spun around, not stopping until it stopped at the hourglass again and a globe. All at once, a meaning sprung to her head: she was asking when she'd see Will, and the hourglass and the globe meant that it was time to go to another world. She was excited but tried not to lose her sense of tranquility, so she walked to Serafina and said a little excitedly, "I can read the alethiometer!"

"For a long time?" Serafina asked. "Can you sustain your knowledge?"

"Well, I dunno, but I just did it, just now, and it worked! I pointed it to something like an anchor, a man, and an hourglass. The big arrow right there"—she pointed to it—"it stopped at the globe and hourglass, which means this: I asked when I'd meet Will again, and it replied that it was time to go to another world…" and on she went with her long-winded explanation.

"The strange thing was, though, that I was aware of it, I mean, I knew that I was in a trance, and I just did it without thinking, 'cause if I think, I can't do it anymore, because I'm forcing myself to do it, but if I just let myself half-think about it, I can do it!

"You see, it's not like when I was little, because when I was little, I didn't understand how it worked, but now I do—you need to not force yourself and kind of sink your mind into tranquility to work it."

"I do hope you continue this," Serafina replied warmly and pulled her into a hug, with Pantalaimon curling himself around Lyra and Serafina's legs. Pan gave a joyful resonating bark.

Cassandra was curious at the excitement in the scene. "What's happening?"

"I can read the alethiometer again!"

Cassandra was speechless but happy nevertheless, and allowed to be embraced by witch and girl. With the new bubbling happiness in Lyra's heart, she set out energetically to meet Will, and before they knew it, they were very near the Bolvangar where she'd been captured, but it was no longer there, just a pile of rubble, so she was whistling as much as she could in the coldness.

They rested for quite a while, resting for two or three days at a time, for Serafina now said that it was near a month they had been traveling now, and it was soon getting to the time where the Aurora could be seen in whole darkness. There was darkness now when nighttime came, and Lyra relished it, being able to sleep without the harsh glare of light disturbing her sleep, though gruesome images did come to her mind once in a while.

Traveling did not take too much of a toll, and while she didn't endeavor to read the alethiometer yet again, she noticed that her state of tranquility came more often in the North, even when her troubles were apparent.

It was odd, but she didn't take too much mind of it, because she thoroughly liked it and wanted it with her whole being: it was like wanting Will again, except this type of want was a different type, something that she would've hated at first but loved it now. She wondered if life was a little like those two wants as she walked and rested and ate and slept. Her ponderings conquered her whole being, revolved around her whole life now.

Her ponderings and "philosophical thoughts," as she called them, kept her mind at work while keeping her relaxed, strangely. She did not understand how such thoughts could keep her mind working away, turning in itself to find the answer, yet making her body calm and cool; not an inch of her muscle, skin, or breath was able to be disturbed.

Serafina found this very interesting: she had never seen a girl act with such a calm, newfound maturity or such a clear, deep understanding. The girl was certainly excitable and sometimes very lively, but she had a type of sadness about her, what Serafina considered must be what humans looked upon her on. She supposed that people must see her as someone infinitely wiser and stronger than a human being ever could be, but among her sisters, she was not so very wise or strong, just an average witch among just one clan in just one region. Perspectives were quite different among different races and species, however, such as bears might be fierce but loyal to whomever they were paid to be, but how much like witches they were! They did not take sides but contemplated which area they wanted to be in. Humans, however, were a different matter—some believed that the world existed in black and white, while some thought that the world existed in shades of gray, and that everyone was equal. Those two parties of humans were both right—the world existed in shades of gray, but one might categorize those shades of gray into black and white, depending on their opinion, and everyone was entitled to their own opinion.

Those were the thoughts of girl and witch as they walked on, each with their own goals to reach and aspire to.

Very soon night came quite frequently, and they saw the Aurora now. One night, while they were setting up tents, Lyra cried out, "Serafina—Cassandra—the Aurora!"

What she saw was a curtain, green at the top and changing subtly to a rich shade of pink and crimson mixed together, with invisible hooks making it glide and wave in the sky gently. There was also invisible currents and eddies around and inside it, with a beautiful shimmering light behind it. Her mouth dropped open in awe; the Aurora never failed to impress her. Her eyes, once drooped with tiredness, now were wide open and "round as saucer plates," as Cassandra narrated later.

Serafina smiled a very small smile at the girls' awe at the Aurora, and turned her head to contentedly look up at the sky. She had not seen the beauty of the Aurora Borealis for such a long time, even though she'd heard it. To see it was heaven all over again, the opposite of the barren wasteland she'd gone through as a young witch-girl. The singing of the Aurora was saturated in her ears and mind; the strangely wild yet just a hint of tame voice of the Aurora beckoned to her irresistibly; she told herself she would visit it very soon, just tomorrow, but she felt her throat aching with the singing and wiped away a tear from her eye that had rolled down her cheek.

Lyra saw the witch cry; she walked over, and, not daring to ask out aloud for fear of disturbing the majestic Aurora, asked with her blue eyes.

Serafina saw the girl's smoky blue eyes ask why she was crying: she was quite an expert at reading peoples' expression through their eyes. She answered back with a gaze that conveyed and reflected the beauty of the curtain displaying the colors, of the high wild singing of the wind that carried the Aurora. Once she saw that her answer was in the girl's eyes, she turned away and let herself drown with delight of the Aurora. She had never experienced it in such saturation before: maybe it was because she'd never given full attention to it.

Lyra nodded and smiled once she saw the answer and walked away, feeling blissfully awake.

Cassandra was as amazed as the two were, but she was new to seeing the Aurora, and when she did, she sat down, half-dazed, and resolved, that when she went back to her mother, she would narrate it faithfully and with description and perhaps amaze all her elder brother and sisters who had plagued her throughout her waking life, only to be relieved by her being sent away to St. Sophia's.

All three daemons watched along with their two human and one witch companions; all six together, humans, witches, and daemons sat there, content and happy for the first time in an eternity, all together, all for each other.

At last, when the next day dawned and the next day's sun set, Serafina waited until midnight, and then she called, "Lyra, Cassandra, mount my broom—Kaisa will help Pantalaimon fly." All three girls, one witch, two humans, were at once flying in the air, holding each other's hands in excitement and a small twinge of anxiety. Pan held on to Kaisa as they soared towards the sky; Coppelius was small enough to go on Cassandra's shoulder.

Lyra saw the promise of a new world as they soared towards it, elegant and completely new to her, even though it was Will's world and partially familiar with it. As she felt herself getting nearer the abyss that separated her world from Will's, there was a burst of light that seemed to shatter her whole being and blast her soul, mind, and body apart.

When she opened her impulsive and instinctively closed eyes, she marveled at Will's world: there were cars, rumbling machines with the power to run someone over—she'd been run over herself; there were anbaric—or electric—current wires all over, and there was sunlight shining on a whole new and different Oxford, but one thing remained the same: the colleges.

The colleges were still as grand as usual, but even so, she could catch a small flaw that meant she was in another world: the iron bar's intricate designs were made like black-work in her world, but in his world, they were sometimes rows with columns crossing each other.

"A different Oxford!" Cassandra said in awe.

"Yes, a different Oxford," Serafina chuckled. Then she pursued: "We must find Will—Lyra, do you know where he lives?"

"No, but I think I know where Mary Malone works, and it's apparently a different time here," she answered hesitantly. "You go there…across that circle thing where cars loop around each other…" Very soon she found herself in front of Mary's building, and there was a banner when she went into the vast lobby that said, "Mary Malone—researcher in Dark Matter or Shadow Particles. Lecture at 6:00 to 7:00 in the evening," to her delight.

Lyra walked to the receptionist and said confidently, "May I see Mary Malone, please?" When the receptionist asked what was the business, Lyra answered, "It's of a personal nature and business." At last, the receptionist stopped fumbling around with her papers and used a telephone to intercom her office.

Mary's voice came through the speaker. "Lyra Belacqua? All right, send her up—and tell her that another certain young man is waiting for her." Mary's voice was kind and soothing, very familiar.

Lyra didn't exactly remember how to use an elevator, but when she said "Level Three, please," to a pinstriped suited man, he pressed a button that said "3" and up they went, to the amazement of Cassandra and Serafina: while they said nothing, Lyra could clearly see that they were amused by the technology.

When they stepped out of the elevator, Lyra ran her eyes along doors with labels right next to then until she saw, "Mary Malone, researcher in Dark Matter." She turned the doorknob.

"Lyra—Serafina—oh, and who's this?" a voice, female, she discerned, shouted heartily. Lyra looked up into the familiar plump-but-not-fat face of Mary and hugged her. "Lyra, I think you might be interested in him…" and Mary pointed to a handsome young man sitting in a chair, writing something with his mechanical pencil.

"Will—it's you—is it?" Lyra gasped. She felt her heart jump a little at the sight of him. Will was changed—more sure, more handsome, especially, and more aged than ever. The age was in his eyes, but that aged his whole face in a strange way.

Will looked at Lyra. She was still beautiful, but her blue smoky eyes seemed to convey a depth and sadness he'd never seen before, but oh, what did he care? She was back, and that was all that mattered. He ran his hands through her dark golden hair, and she reflected his actions.

Both Lyra and Will pressed their faces closer, and both felt a tingle of excitement run down their spine when their lips touched and pressed against each other. Lyra pressed her aching body towards him and touched his back, his warm face—it felt like euphoria, like blissful oblivion, like—like heaven. Their lips pressed against each other, their bodies held tight. Will's face grew hot, though he didn't blush—he never did, and as he grasped her shoulders both roughly and kindly, he murmured, "You're back…you're back."


	6. Stolen

When they finally broke apart, Lyra blushed and Will looked away. Mary Malone was smiling at them for a mysterious reason, maybe because of the awkwardness. Serafina's expression was solemn but her eyes twinkled gently; Cassandra had turned red but giggled freely. She'd never seen anyone embrace passionately.

"Well!" Mary interrupted. The silence was over and everything was back to normal. Well, almost normal, Mary thought. "I see we have two lovers in our midst," she said, chuckling, and when she saw them embrace again—they'd not seen each other for such a long time—she turned her back to them and worked on her papers while the others did the same.

Meanwhile, Pantalaimon was on the ground with Kirjava, Pantalaimon growling pleasurably while Kirjava, an ordinary house-cat but with shimmering fur, purred deeply. They embraced like Lyra and Will, and the boy and girl now had a sense that their daemons would never change again: they were formed for all eternity: Pantalaimon a wolf, Kirjava a beautiful cat. Boy and girl smiled peacefully from the bliss melting inside their bodies, it seemed, and they kissed again, each time becoming deeper with their mouths coming together with a fierce longing.

No one in the room remembered later how they got back to normal conversation again, but somehow and somewhere they did, and they were discussing Will's future. Perhaps Lyra had started it.

"So, Will, what happened about your mum?" Lyra asked carefully. His mother was a touchy and sensitive subject because his mother apparently had something not right about her with her mind.

"Well…mum's not doing so well—she's at some kind of mental recovery facility…you know, post-traumatic syndrome. Whatever those people in the past did to her, it wasn't good, and she's not telling them. Mary's my legal guardian now." Will shuffled his feet and looked down for a second. He, for some reason, couldn't trust Lyra, even though it was irrational. She'd trusted him with her secrets; he had to do the same.

"Legal guardian—you mean like someone assigned to take care of you, like that?" she asked with curiosity. "We don't have it in our world…people will take you in."

"Lucky," Will said with spite. "Things don't work out that easy around here."

Mary started, "We can take you out to dinner, you know, but Lyra, Cassandra, you need some proper clothing, and Serafina—what do you eat? At home, I've got yogurt, bouillabaisse, chicken marsala, croutons, salad…"

"I won't need any nourishment, thank you," Serafina smiled politely.

"Okay, but Lyra and Cassandra…you need either jeans or a skirt—short skirt. Take your pick—we're going to buy some at some kind of store near Harrod's…and you'd be better with going in my car…you don't know how to use the tube station yet."

"What's the tube station?" Cassandra said, fiddling with her coat fur.

"Subway—oh, useless explaining to you…"

With some rearrangement of papers and persuading to get Lyra to agree to wear a denim miniskirt and a nice, close-fitting top and proper undergarments, as Mary decided, they went to Mary's car and got in, all five people just barely fitting. Luckily, it was a minivan.

When Lyra went to a store with Mary to help, it was a teen's store. She was shocked that girls wore either pants or those strange short denim canvas skirts that barely went to the mid-calf, much less their knees. However, with a lot more coaxing with Mary to wear "proper undergarments" and a nice little black gothic shirt, they made their way to a restaurant.

They ate fish and chips, something that Lyra would be familiar with; however, the street surroundings were not, so Will had to keep reminding Lyra that cars would not stop for her just because she walked out on the road.

When, after a long battle of "who should cross and how you should cross the street," they made it to Mary's spacious apartment. Serafina looked around at human surroundings in Will's world, looked puzzled, and pointed to a strange bulbous thing inside a lamp, quite unlike naphtha lamps. "Oh," Mary said, flustered, "that's a light bulb and electricity runs it."

"Electricity?" Serafina asked, sounding out the syllables.

"Anbarocity," Lyra explained. "It's anbaric."

"Oh."

Mary walked around, turning on light bulbs all over the place until the cozy-yet-spacious living room was as bright as day with white light; "I hate regular yellow light," Mary explained. "It looks too strange. White light is better for my eyes as well."

"Ahh," Will sighed, taking off his shoes, sitting down on a light-brown leather sofa and propping his feet up on the glass coffee table directly in front of him. "Mary, can we watch something on BBC again?"

"Oh, why not—Lyra and Cassandra and Serafina are here—oh, Serafina, you won't be staying? Ah, you'll visit them in a few days. Oh, that's fine with me. Lyra and Cassandra then," Mary replied, answered Serafina's gesture, and replied again.

Lyra excitedly said, "Television!" She got a remote and got Will to turn the TV on for her, but the movies on channel 1, 2, BBC News, and 4, 5, 6 were all violent, so they popped in a DVD and admired Mary's "awesome" sound system, complete with tall oak loudspeakers and many cables and wires behind her hi-fi equipment.

"I like doing this, listening to the differences in sound systems," Mary said as she changed sound systems, from Dolby 3/2.1 to DTS. "You hear this? DTS is much crisper and clearer, but Dolby 3/2.1 is more resonant and better for an orchestra—very grand and loud."

"Yeah, I can hear," Lyra remarked, tossing her speech as if it were of no importance.

"I can't," Will said haughtily, but as soon as he realized that Lyra was kidding, he hit her with a pillow. "You're lying!"

"Pillow fight!" Lyra shrieked and grabbed another pillow. But before Lyra and Will could start throwing pillows, Mary stopped them dead in their tracks.

"What are you doing?" she asked. "This is my sound system and home—don't mess it up, please. Will, you should already know it…I need to keep a tight rein on you, you hear?" Mary reprimanded. "I'm sorry—just get some rest."

"Yeah, I will," Lyra replied. "Don't worry."

The next day they stayed home to look at Will's knife and determine what had to be done. Will's knife was shattered in pieces, the smallest fragment being the tip, just barely visible with the sunlight. It was a good thing Mary's kitchen floor was of linoleum. There were large shards of the knife, gleaming and sharp where it was closest to the hilt. When it neared the bottom, the tip, the pieces of the blade got smaller and smaller until the tip, which was about the size of a fingernail—not very big.

"Oh, wow," Cassandra said and whistled in a low tone. "That's bad, all right."

Will didn't hear: he was concentrating on putting the knife back together. Within two hours of intense concentration, he pieced carefully the shards back together, tracing the shape of each fragment and cutting it out so that by the time Will finished, there was the real knife and the paper outline of the knife with the individual fragments all taped together in the right way. "Thought it might help Iorek," he sighed, wiping away sweat from his forehead. "Oh, my God, it's already tea?" He turned to Lyra, who'd been watching him patiently. "How long have I been working?"

"Two hours and one minute," she replied, smiling at his face. When she had no patience in usual things, she could find patience and love in watching Will's figure. "We've got to get the knife fixed so that Dust doesn't leak out—and we've got to find the real Joseph's Orb."

"Talk about stress," Mary said, coming into the kitchen. Mary's kitchen was all chrome, wood, and stainless steel, with proper porcelain plates inside the glass cabinets and real silverware. The refrigerator, which had always amazed Lyra, was stainless steel with energy-saving power. The sink was chrome, neat and tidy chrome, and the counter was of light wood, maybe birch. All in all, the kitchen looked clean and professional. "I've got a presentation on Dust to prepare—I've been working all day. Ack."

"So that's where you've been!" Lyra exclaimed. "No wonder we couldn't find you. Will told me you were in your office or summin'."

"Yeah, my office at home—home sweet home," Mary chuckled. "I'm starved. Shall I make some proper Grey Tea and crumpets?"

"Please do," Cassandra replied. "I love tea."

While they were having tea, Serafina Pekkala was flying back to the Arctic. She had to go to their world's Arctic, up North, and burst through the barrier.

But something was wrong. She was growing weaker every day as she hastened towards the Arctic. She knew she had to do something before she eventually collapsed, but what? The orb was an evil thing that sapped her energy. It'd taken her twelve hours to get to the tundra now, and it would take a little longer to get back. What could she do?

She had to go back and warn them. With a desperate, wild thought, she turned her cloud-pine branch around and wearily sped back to Mary's place.

"So the orb Serafina has right now isn't the real thing?" Will asked, biting into a crumpet with butter. Sunlight streamed through the windows, making dust dance.

"No, the orb I have is bad," Lyra explained. "It's not good, whatever it is."

"Geez," Will smiled. "You never end your troubles, do you?" He got up and kissed Lyra on the cheek. They were limited to formal gestures of affection, but when they were alone, they kissed on the lips as often and as passionately as they wanted. It was bliss for him and a strange feeling that he couldn't describe, a feeling that wanted him to clasp her body closer.

Serafina was weak now. She could barely stay awake, but she gritted her teeth and forced herself to be awake. She was within an hour of their place. She could make it—just.

They went out to the cinema that night and saw some movie about killing and gore and mayhem, which Will and Mary both liked. Lyra was startled at first, but she began to relax and enjoy the suspense. Cassandra shut her eyes half of the way until Lyra poked her arm to open them up. The background music and soundtrack was done so well that the audience gasped at the climax, when a main character was dead and the killer stood over the character, smiling spitefully.

The popcorn was delicious and buttery, but it made Lyra's lip parched, so they bought a soda, Pepsi, at the nearby vending machine. "Oh—it's not Coke," she gasped at the flavor. "What is it?"

"Pepsi," Mary replied. "It's not Coke, but tastes just like it. Don't drink too much—you'll get fat."

Lyra didn't reply but just gulped down the fizzing, burning, sugary drink. It was so sweet.

As they walked home, Cassandra pointed out a human figure on the sky with a branch. The human figure collapsed a few inches off the ground. "Look—over there!" she shouted. As all four ran forward, Lyra sucked in a breath, for it was Serafina Pekkala, more dead than alive. Serafina's face was paper-white with a slight gray tinge all over her skin. Her lips were bluish-pink and her eyes were closed.

"Call an ambulance!" Mary Malone said, panicked. Mary, Lyra, and Cassandra attended to the unconscious witch while Will dialed emergency number on his mobile.

"Serafina—wake up, please, please," Lyra shouted. She patted the gray cheeks.

"Let me," Mary offered, and butted her way in. She put her right forefinger and index on the jugular vein on Serafina's neck. "I studied medical while I was a nun." Mary could feel a faint beat throbbing. "Good, she's not dead." Then Mary turned to Lyra. "Do you have any idea what might be making her sick?"

"I don't know; just give me a few minutes…" Lyra thought hard, scrolling through her memories in the back of her head over the past few days. But one thought struck her hard: the orb. "The false orb—get it out, search for it!" She found a sack that Serafina was carrying and dragged it off her limp arm. There the orb was, swirling and drifting silver mist. Lyra dropped it on the ground; she didn't dare carry it. No wonder she'd been so tired—the orb sapped strength. "We need to change Serafina into proper clothing."

Since they were at the entrance of Mary's home, they easily dragged her into Mary's bedroom while Lyra lent Serafina one of her dresses—Serafina could be a schoolgirl. "Doesn't make much sense, but it's not Halloween, so it's better than nothing," Mary considered doubtfully.

Will had carried the orb into the kitchen and wrapped it up with various towels.

Lyra heard something wail, like a fire alarm. "Relax, that's the ambulance," Mary said. "Quick—get her into the truck."

Mary left Lyra, Cassandra, and Will specific instructions on how to run everything and to lock all doors and windows and close curtains when she was gone. Mary was going to stay with Serafina in case something happened. "And keep your mobile on," Mary commanded to Will as she got into the truck.

They were left alone.

"Quick, do as Mary said," Will urged. They scrambled over each other to lock everything that could reveal that they were alone and close the curtains and Venetian blinds. When they were done, Will got out a bag of potato crisps and turned on the TV. "It helps when you're staying home alone," he explained. "You don't feel so alone when the telly's on."

After a few hours, when most of them had fallen asleep, Will stayed up. He was determined to keep watch over Lyra's friend and especially Lyra. His mobile phone rang at five to midnight. Before he flipped the top lid open, he thought, this is like those horror movies and mysteries on BBC. "Yeah?" he answered into the phone.

"Serafina's fine," Mary sighed. "The doctors are trying to diagnose her. I'll come back around seven in the morning, when everything's okay. Get some sleep, you."

"No, you get sleep." Will wanted Mary to be safe, like his mother. So far, Mary was playing the part of a mother very well, except that they were more friends than mother and son. "I'll stay up."

"Get to sleep," Mary said firmly. "You're growing. I'm not. I can survive without sleep, pulling an all-nighter. I've done it last year and years before, so I can certainly do it again."

"Fine." Will said it with a resigned air. "But you sleep once you get back." When they'd come to mutual terms of agreement, he pulled a crocheted blanket over all three of them, snuggling close to Lyra, and fell asleep.

Mary came home at seven, as she promised. It'd been a tiring night, making up lies to the doctor and staying up, watching the nurses poke needles of IV fluid and take blood tests to determine what was wrong. When the doctor finally came in, he was tired and had dark circles under his eyes. Mary had felt sorry for him. He examined Serafina carefully, but he couldn't find out what was wrong, so he called Serafina's condition Diagnosis X, after a TV show he'd seen in America.

Mary found Will with his arms wrapped around Lyra, while Cassandra had her face turned away from them. Lyra had her arm around Will, too. Mary looked away, conscious of the slight awkwardness watching a couple.

She went into her office and fell asleep as soon as her head was in her arms.

Will woke up and untangled his arm and her arm away from each other. He padded softly to Mary's office and saw her asleep among the piles of papers and binders. He smiled and turned to wake up Lyra and Cassandra. "Wake up," he whispered and shook them awake.

The two girls woke up and rubbed their eyes. Throughout the whole day, they sat on the couch, reading, watching the television, or just plain talking until Mary came out with her hair disheveled. "Shall I fix something up?" Mary asked.

"No, no," all three teenagers answered. "Go back to sleep…we'll be fine…you must be tired…"

At last at seven in the night, they agreed to make dinner, but something was missing from the scene.

Lyra looked and looked for something that seemed out of place, but she finally knew what. Something was missing. She glanced at the counter close to the refrigerator and the cabinets. "Will!" she breathed. "The knife—it's gone!"

The knife was gone indeed, and so was the paper outline.


	7. Conflict

"Damn it," Will cursed. "How could it be gone? I hid it so well—in the cabinet, all the way in the back! And look—the plates aren't even shifted!" He kicked the lower cabinet, making the dishes rattle in their places. "Damn it—damn it—damn it!"

Cassandra really looked shocked this time. Lyra could sense her discomfort and led Will away to the living room. "Cursing won't do us any good," she stated sensibly. She was trying to stay stable for Will's sake, even though she felt defeated and worn down past bearing. Her mental state was no better than her body.

"I know." Will looked down at his shoe and kicked the carpet. "But I'm still mad at whoever took it." He looked up. "Do you think that the Magisterium could've done it?"

"Why not? I've seen them do some bad things to me and my father"—her throat felt tight—"Lord Asriel, you know."

They walked back into the kitchen and saw that everyone was looking worried. "Will and I reckon that we should search in my world," Lyra said, biting her bottom lip so hard that it bled. The blood tasted coppery and hot; her lip stung as well. She used her dress sleeve to wipe away the crimson blood. The dress would have to be washed out later on. "But I think we ought to let Serafina get well first, or else."

"What I don't get," Mary sighed and blew out a breath, "is that why they'd take the knife but not the orb."

Lyra, Will, and Mary Malone felt their blood freeze. "Did you forget?" Will said, frustrated. "The knife lets you open into any world of your desire. But we should go now, while they don't know how to use it."

The three other people besides Will were caught in limbo, not able to decide whether to leave Serafina or have one of them stay or all of them stay. If they left Serafina alone, who knew what would happen? If one of them stayed, how would they keep in contact? And if all of them stayed, what were the chances that the Magisterium would stay clueless until they got there? They had three choices, and once they chose one, the other two had to be snuffed out like a candle. Nothing else would exist.

All three shuffled their feet, but Will glared at them, the path cut out for him certain and sure. _Life isn't easy_, Lyra thought, _but Will knows what's better in the long run. But still, what'll happen to Serafina?_ She closed her eyes to think clearly through the tired muddle of her brain. It was like the alethiometer again.

The alethiometer! She rummaged in her skirt pocket and found it. Thank God that she kept the alethiometer in somewhere so private, no one would think to look. The heavy gold disk weighed heavily on her hand like the choices weighing on her mind. She turned the dial to a dolphin, the globe, and the anchor, which meant that they were unsure to go, whether the Magisterium was going to pose a threat, and the anchor, for hope.

She held the levels in her mind but with consciousness this time, even though it was a little harder. As she held the levels and pressed them down, the larger needle spun. Twice it stopped at the baby, five at the apple, and once at the hourglass with death. The baby meant the future and the apple knowledge, but the hourglass with the death's head meant someone was going to die, and it was quite clear who.

She thrust the alethiometer down, unable to stop a sense of helplessness. Lyra felt numb. "No—Serafina can't die!" she wailed quietly. "She just can't!"

"She can," Will said softly, placing a warm hand on her back. Lyra felt so cold, so lifeless that he took her hand and rubbed it. "The orb's sapping her strength, somehow, somewhere." He turned to Mary. "We need to know where the orb comes from." He felt as helpless as Lyra, but he didn't show it. Show something like weakness, hopelessness at school and you were beaten up for the look in your eyes, so Will had learned to bury it under layers of supposed bravery. "Maybe it's not Serafina. Don't jump to conclusions." He certainly sounded a lot surer than he felt.

"Can you give me a moment to sort this all out?" Mary groaned. They all jumped. She'd not spoken for ten minute straight, and her voice was a little hoarse. She stayed silent again for a few minutes until she cleared her throat. "So, we need to go and find out if the Magisterium has the knife but Serafina can't be left alone. And we need to know if the orb is powerful and where it came from, so that we can return it."

"I'll ask the alethiometer," Lyra offered shakily. She felt scared, a pit in her stomach where her bravery used to be. Her mind threw up images of the symbols until she was so afraid, she sat down on a chair and shook her head. "I can't do it today—I just can't," she almost whispered in a high, thin voice. She had to grip the table to make sure she wasn't lost inside her fear.

"No need to rush," Mary soothed. "I think I'm too tired to make dinner, anyway. Let's just sleep."

Everyone agreed, so they changed into their nightgowns and pajamas (in Will's case) to get ready for sleep. This time, instead of Lyra sleeping with Cassandra, she slept in Will's room.

Will's room was quite different from her room. His room was covered in posters of various rock bands and a couple of trophies, all hard-won by trading with other boys his age. As they both snuggled into his wide bed, Lyra felt his warm, inviting hand curl around her shoulders, and she fell asleep contentedly on his shoulder.

Will wanted nothing more than just one night like this, like a loving husband and wife, perhaps. He sighed, put his head closer to Lyra's, and closed his eyes to the darkness.

Lyra kept seeing the alethiometer, but when she knew she was dreaming, she screamed in her dream. The subtle knife, Lord Asriel and Mrs. Coulter were looming closer to her. Lyra was watching the Lyra in her dream, and she just looked at the horrible scenes. Mrs. Coulter had the knife, and she cut off Lord Asriel's head, Lyra's only father, and cut off Lyra's head, too. The oddest thing was that Lyra felt the knife but no pain. All of a sudden, the alethiometer spun around until it was like having a fever, the images coming closer until they threatened to collapse in grains. The images went back to their normal spots. Around and around they swirled, until apparently the dream Lyra decided she'd had enough and made her wake up.

The real world Lyra woke up, gasping for breath with perspiration on her forehead and finding that she had tears on her face. The dream had been so frightening in such a way, she'd cried in her sleep.

"What's wrong?" Will asked groggily, waking up.

Lyra dug her head into his shoulder. "The alethiometer—Mrs. Coulter—Lord Asriel—the Subtle Knife," she gasped in between sobs. She waited until her breaths had naturally calmed down a little. "This is the real world, is it?" She was so panicked; she felt her face to make sure she was real. She was real, with hot tears of fright streaming down her cheeks. "It's all real—I'm real, everyone's real."

Mary came bursting into the room. "Lyra—I heard you scream. Will?" she said sternly, looking him straight in the eye.

"What?" Will answered innocently. "I didn't do anything. Lyra had a bad dream."

"It was about Mrs. Coulter and Lord Asriel and the Subtle Knife and the alethiometer," Lyra poured out all in one breath. "Oh, I'm real, am I?" she kept asking. She really couldn't tell if the world was real or not. She touched Will's face and felt a tingle where her fingertips grazed his jawbone.

"Oh, God, I thought that something bad had happened," Mary said, apparently worried. "Look—it's almost dawn, so get up and might as well do you some good to watch the sun rise, watch something to do with nature, not machinery and…well, just go. It'll help, I promise," Mary added when she saw Lyra's dubious blue eyes.

Lyra and Will went outside and breathed in the fresh, crisp cold air in the morning. Lyra welcomed the air especially because the cold was a shock to her senses. The wind whipped her hair while the penetrating cold made her very bones freeze. Pantalaimon and Kirjava, with them all the while but straying about inside the house when Serafina was out in the hospital, came outside and stood by their corporeal half.

Will's skin stood out in goose-bumps at the tranquil morning. He normally didn't like cold weather, but this wasn't half bad. The chill wind was just right to make his body cool and dry, but not enough to make him shiver, unlike the past thirteen bone-marrow-freezing winter. He didn't dare to speak, didn't dare to disturb the majestic quietness of a rising dawn.

The sun came up slowly, first turning the sky gray, and then all of a sudden, it was bursting through the skyscrapers in the distance. Mary lived in a little remote place, but not so remote that they couldn't walk to somewhere in twenty, thirty minutes. The sun was a bursting ball of red, making their skin tinged with a faint crimson, blood-like hue. The cold air and splendid scenery did more than make their breathing even; it made her minds clear and empty, much like a child's mind, without worry and the world's government.

They went back inside before the sun heated the atmosphere because inside had air-conditioning. Mary was already up, making a cup of coffee. "So," Mary yawned, sleepy, "what do we do with Serafina?"

"Go now," Lyra spoke, her voice hoarse. "We should go now while Serafina—"

"Serafina need a person to take care of her…" Mary replied, reluctant of letting the witch be alone.

Will thought of something. "My piano teacher—she can help Serafina, and we've got our mobiles…not that it'd work in other worlds, but it's a start," said he.

"Well, we'll have to warn Serafina—she's conscious and speaking and able to understand us—that your piano teacher is not a witch but a human." Mary ran her hands through her hair, tapped the countertop on which she was leaning against, and adjusted her nightgown.

"Don't you think she'd know already?" Will asked, his voice nearly a whisper. His mum was in the hospital, in some kind of rehabilitation, and it was heart-wrenching for him to acknowledge the fact that his mother was not fit to be a kind and loving parent, hard though she'd tried over the past twelve years. "Besides, I don't want anyone poking their noses into our business. We go to Lyra's world now, and we don't stop for side matters."

"Serafina isn't a side matter!" Lyra asserted forcefully. "Someone's gotta look after her."

"Just my piano teacher…" Will insisted in a strained voice.

"Fine," Lyra decided, petulant and feeling very annoyed all over, as love-struck as she was. "Your piano teacher."

As soon as Will had led his piano teacher to the hospital and explained what was going on, the piano teacher looked shocked. "A witch?" she asked incredulously. "Aren't witches evil?"

"Not this one." Lyra's voice came through clear and quiet. "She's the best person you'd wish for a mother. But please," she implored, "take care of her and contact us. I don't know if Will's mobile will work outside this world, but at least give it a try," she said desperately. "We'll come back as soon as we can," she said in a soothing voice to Serafina.

Serafina, now more flesh-colored and quite conscious, nodded and replied in a weak tone, "I have something for you to keep contact." Out of somewhere she had six necklaces, seemingly made of gold. "If I need assistance, you will feel that the necklace becomes hot, not hot enough to burn but hot." One necklace she looped over her slender neck; the rest she gave to the five people standing around her bedside.

"Thank you," Lyra said. She didn't know how in the world Serafina could keep doing magic, even at one of her weakest points. "We'll come back to you immediately, no matter what happens."

They all left the hospital except for the piano teacher and Serafina, of course. Mary was strolling along in their Oxford at a leisurely pace, so slow that Lyra, Will, and Cassandra had to look behind them to make sure Mary was keeping up.

"What are you worrying about?" Cassandra finally asked when they were five minutes away from Mary's flat.

"Serafina…my papers…" Mary said absentmindedly. She had a frown on her face and a worried expression in her eyes. "Should I just tell the people that I'm researching with that an urgent matter calls me out of United Kingdom for five days?"

"I honestly don't care," Will growled. "We're going to her world tonight, and no doubt about it."

"But how?" Lyra said. "We don't have the knife, we don't know where the openings are, and Serafina's not well enough yet. There are no witches in your world. We're in a dead end."

Will sighed, ran his hand through his blackish-brown hair, and thought about it while they turned into a park in Oxford with a stately-looking church. "Fine," he answered, frustrated. "We'll wait until Serafina's well enough and then we'll go. But I don't know how long it'll take."

"Let me ask the alethiometer." Lyra took it out again, turned it to a globe, a dolphin, and an apple; globe for worlds, dolphin for uncertainty or playfulness, and apple for Serafina—knowledge. The needle swung round, stopping at the globe, the hourglass but not meaning death, and of a woman, which meant Serafina was going to be all right. "She's going to be all right soon," Lyra replied after shaking herself out of her trance.

"When—how—I need to know!" Will exclaimed, kicking a black-iron fence. His toe stung but he didn't care. Serafina was taking too long—the results wouldn't be good—he wanted to scream.

"Wait and see," Mary said cryptically. "We'll go when it's time."

One day passed uneventfully. Two days passed uneventfully. Quite soon a whole week dragged and lagged by their faces. Will was growing irritated, Mary was exhausted from her work, Lyra was troubled and tired to the point of breaking down again—she'd asked the alethiometer but it gave the same response, and Cassandra was just being a "pain in the butt," as Will said.

One night they were sitting on the couch, Cassandra watching television, switching the channels; Will was doing his school worksheets and was stuck on a geometry problem; Lyra was consulting the alethiometer but with her brain falling to pieces of the effort needed to fall into a trance; Mary was sitting with her feet tucked under her, her laptop perched on her knees and she was typing away at it rapidly, pressing the return key of several emails. All of a sudden a thud was in the room, but nothing had happened. "Oh, blackout in someone else's flat," Mary muttered under her breath and sent five more emails, her nimble fingers moving as fast as they could.

All four of them clutched their necklaces: they'd become freezing cold, so they lifted it off their hollow of their necks. "Serafina's ready," Lyra shouted. She didn't know why she said it, but she was almost certain that Serafina was quite well enough.

Mary's flat's door burst open with the sight of a person with mint-green eyes and a regal yet kind and mystical expression.

"Told you she was ready," Lyra boasted. She leapt up from her position, tucked the alethiometer into her pocket and rushed to Serafina. "You're going to take us to the Arctic, are you?' she asked anxiously.

Serafina smiled, much like she'd done before she'd gotten sick. "This time the journey will be swifter. I have three of my sisters along with me, so we are hastening to the North."

Lyra got on Serafina's cloud-pine branch, but before she did so, she grabbed her coat and reminded the others to do so. Pantalaimon crouched on Lyra's shoulder, his weight heavy on her back but he was relatively stable, so long as they didn't do any loop-de-loops in the air or any flips.

They flew swifter and bumpier this time. The wind whipped at her face more fiercely than she was used to, and her eyes streamed with tears to protect from the gusts of cold air. Lyra could see the glinting lights of Will's world gradually fading until there were barely any at all and they were over sea. She had to look back up to the sky, or else she felt like falling. At last she saw, in the surrounding, compressing darkness, the faint outline of trees in the tundra, but they went past those, until they saw discernible white from black. Serafina and her sisters flew about ten more minutes before landing.

Pantalaimon hopped off Serafina's broom, tested his paws on the snow, and gave a howl. Lyra reprimanded, "Pan! Shush!"

Cassandra's daemon, Coppelius, dug his claws into her shoulder until she swept him off. Kirjava jumped off Will's shoulder as he was on the ground.

Mary got off wearily, but Serafina reminded her, "We still have about an hour's walking until we're there, near the thin layer of unknown separating her world from yours."

They trekked on the snow, all tired and hungry, but they made good progress. Serafina flew up into the air, guiding the four humans north. "This is the best part about being a witch," Serafina smiled. "We can fly as high as we want, whenever we want." The tone of her voice meant that she was only stating the fact, not boasting or bragging about it.

Will was the first to see the Aurora this time. He raised his eyes to the sky and saw the curtain of green-crimson-rose drifting and swaying up in the vast firmament. He breathed a sigh of wonder and tugged on Lyra's sleeve. Everybody lifted their eyes to the wonderful sight hanging above them.

"We're near there, only five minutes, so get on the cloud-pine branches again," Serafina called. Everybody scrambled to do so, and when they were done, the witch flew faster and faster than she'd ever done. "We need to be quick about it," she whispered to Lyra, who was sitting behind her. Lyra felt her body resisting to the wind but she held on. Pantalaimon wrapped himself around her neck. All of a sudden, they burst through a layer of unknown, their bodies feeling burst apart by pure, white light, and they were through.

"We're in London!" was the first thing Lyra said after ten minutes of silence and recovering from their shock. "My London." There was something comforting and familiar about returning to where she was born in. She led the way forward, having made many excursions in London and Oxford, though she was more familiar with the latter than the former.

"Magisterium's over there," Lyra pointed to a large, grand and rather lavish building right next to the Royal Arctic Institute. "We're going there first."


	8. Dead End

Lyra's stomach felt queasy, like when she'd gotten drunk, except this time was much worse, since her life could be dashed like cold water upon rock. The Magisterium was powerful and had soldiers guarding the building, so they'd be in a little bit of trouble trying to go in.

"How do we get in?" Cassandra complained. She looked around and saw soldiers surrounding the building of the Magisterium. "We can't get in. There's too many people."

"Then we should create a scene and make a run for it," Mary suggested.

"Mary, you might want to change your clothing," Lyra mumbled, seeing people were staring at a woman in blue canvas trousers and a buttoned work blouse and her feet in sneakers, not proper black, lace-up shoes or patent leather.

"Oh. Yeah, I might wanna," she said, looking at her clothing.

"I might be able to nick some stuff from Mrs. Lonsdale." Lyra started off to Oxford. "Just come with me."

She speedily led the others to Jordan College in Oxford, but here was the tricky thing: getting past the house servants. Or she had to negotiate her way with them. Lyra ducked into a nearby church when she saw the kitchen servants milling around, carrying platters of steaming, fragrant, aromatic food. The rich smell of roasted goose wafted into her nostrils, and she almost licked her lips at what she knew was a succulent, tasty dish. But she drove that thought out of her mind.

She came near the gate, and when there was no one, Lyra motioned for the others behind her to quickly and silently run into the entrance hallway. They did so; Lyra crouched down and the others followed her example.

Will was amazed at Lyra's pick-pocketing and hiding skills. Lyra dodged a nearby servant by turning her body in such a way so that he never noticed her at all. She came out, whistled softly, and everyone proceeded.

The hardest part was getting across the Yaxley Quadrangle, where there was several thousand feet of open space. Will and Lyra were used to running great distances: Will from dodging bullies and school's track team, Lyra from running through the alleys to avoid the people bitching about her for stealing a pie or whatever valuable item she stole from the Covered Market. They ran fast, their legs pumping away, their breaths coming fast and shallow as their arms moved in time with their pounding feet. Mary and Cassandra were a little slower—a few hundred yards behind—but they made it to Lyra's Staircase Twelve, nevertheless.

They all slowed down, panting and walking off their sprint. The sun was beating down hot and steady on their backs but it wasn't dead-middle-of-summer hot. Lyra could see Mrs. Lonsdale's plump figure going into the kitchen. "We can't go now," Lyra explained patiently. "She's in there and I don't wanna get caught."

As soon as the red-dress-clad, plump and doughy person left the kitchen, Lyra tiptoed to the kitchen underneath, having motioned to the rest that they were not to follow, and that if anyone saw them, they'd say that they were waiting to deliver something to the kitchen servants.

Lyra could hear clangorous bustling inside the kitchens, and she knew that Bernie, the pastry-cook, would be willing to help her. There were many servants, but only Bernie was required to stay in because he was the one who cooked the bread and therefore didn't need to go out and serve the dishes. Lyra crept to him and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Oh—Lyra?" Bernie said, amazed. "It en't you, Lyra, is it?"

"Yeah, it is," Lyra sighed, annoyed at the usual "oh, you've grown so much!" treatment. "Listen, where does Mrs. Lonsdale keep her clothing? My friend needs to borrow a dress."

"What you up to?" Bernie asked, suspicious. But all of a sudden his demeanor turned playful and he clapped Lyra on the back. "You see," he said in a low voice, pointing up the stairs leading to the hallway, "you go up those stairs, turn right immediately; at the first hallway you see, turn left and at the end of the hallway, enter the last door on your right."

"Got it." Lyra winked and hastily trotted up the corridor and did exactly what Bernie instructed. It was fun, the suspense of possibly being caught, and she wanted to milk the moment. She crept along. Pantalaimon was conspicuous, so he was back near Mary, Will, and Cassandra. The hallways were half-dark and silent, so she was easily unnoticed. Once inside Mrs. Lonsdale's room, she opened a drawer carefully and found dresses. She took a dark blue one out and, seeing that there were no servants nearby, ran back out and found several anxious people waiting for her. "Mary, I got your dress," Lyra crowed triumphantly.

"Thanks," Mary said. "Can I go up into your room to change?" When Lyra nodded yes and Mary was up in her room, Lyra waited, pacing around but careful to makes sure no one was within eyesight of her. Mary came out after a few minutes, the dress a little large on her.

"God," Mary chuckled. "You wear this? That's just…so Industrial Revolution-ish clothing."

"What's the Industrial Revolution?" Lyra asked, seeing as in her world, they never had such a thing.

"Never mind, let's go." Will swept the talk of Industrialization aside and they all returned to their topics. "So, how do we sneak out?" There were more people now crossing the Yaxley Quadrangle.

"Through here," Lyra replied. She went behind the whole college, went up the roof, and hid behind chimneys when there was danger of anyone seeing her. "Okay, we're clear," she called out as soon as they were hidden behind a tree, out of Oxford—but not out of Jordan—country. "Magisterium's main building's that way," she pointed, "but it's gonna take a little while to find out what security."

"Shouldn't you know?" Cassandra asked.

"How would I know?" Lyra said indignantly. "I never been in there before." She tossed her head a little proudly. "I've been to the North all alone, and you haven't."

"Stop bragging, Lyra, and you, Cassandra, stop criticizing," Mary Malone scolded. "Just find out what security they have."

They all walked towards the Magisterium's main building, their hearts pounding harder and harder each minute as they were closer. Lyra, Will, and Mary had terrible experience of the ruling group's power, while Cassandra, ignorant, had none.

Will's foot clanked against a gutter. Lyra's instinctive "Shh!" came out before she could help it and remember that she was supposed to keep quiet.

"Sorry," Will mouthed. "Look—there's guards all over the place! How do we get in?"

"Create a diversion," Mary suggested again.

"No, that's too risky." Will took time considering his options but couldn't find a plan that'd work. "Great. We're at a dead end."

"We can go at night," Cassandra whispered.

"Are you mad?" Lyra and Will shouted-whispered. "We need to catch up on sleep," Lyra continued. "We should wait and see. Why don't I show you around London?"

"What about lodgings?" everyone except Lyra asked when they were in the Anbaric Park in Yarnton. They were all sitting down on a single long wooden bench, watching ladies and gentlemen pass them by, giving Will odd looks because of his clothing. Gentlemen and boys wore trousers, gray or tan-colored trousers, absolutely no blue, and the trousers shouldn't have those strange metal teeth and pockets on them.

"I'm thinking about it!" Lyra was getting agitated. "You're right; we're at a dead end. But can you let me think straight?"

"Sorry," Cassandra said and ducked her head down.

"Not just you—everyone!"

No one said anything or made a sound, not even coughing as they sat there, mulling over their plans and details. Some had ideas to create a diversion but obviously, Lyra and Will disagreed, because what if the Bow Street Runners had them down, or the Magisterium? They couldn't commit arson—that'd be too obvious. So how would they get people to leave the building? Their minds were spinning round and round but nothing was coming out, like when Will tried doing logic puzzles with only ten clues. Will went for the obvious, not the hidden meanings, but even Lyra was stuck.

At last everyone admitted that they couldn't think of a thing to do and there was no choice of lodging except for Jordan College. But Lyra would be in enormous amounts of trouble.

"What'll we do?" she fretted. "The Master's going to kill me 'cause I ran away from St. Sophia's!" After a while, she gave a small sigh, barely heard. "Fine, we're going to Jordan."

They had to set out in the opposite direction of London and walk about two hours to reach Jordan. By the time they reached the lavish, magnificent college in Oxford, everyone was beat and barely noticed the iron fences and gardens. Yaxley Quadrangle was getting dark, so they needed a way to get to the Master and appeal to him alone.

"I can climb up on the roof when it's night and come in through his window. You see my room?"—pointed Lyra—"I can step on the gutter quickly and hoist myself on the roof."

"Good idea, but what about me?" Mary asked, a little unsure. She was larger than the teenagers, so she'd have trouble.

"You stay here in my room but hide if anyone you hear is about to come in."

It was very dangerous, but they all agreed on the plan and shook hands on it. While they were waiting, Lyra stole into the kitchen again, nicked some bread and butter, courtesy of Bernie, and shared it with the other three people also waiting for nighttime.

The kitchens were growing dark as one by one the servants went to bed. The night was getting chill with cold that penetrated their very bones and made them shiver. The only consolation was to huddle together, backs facing the wind, and share their body warmth.

At last no one's window was light except for the Master's. To Lyra, it seemed that they had waited ages and ages to climb up. Energy renewed, she ran up to her tower with Will and Cassandra and Mary behind her. Mary stayed in the room while Lyra showed them how to climb on the gutter and step on the roof.

"Wait—" Cassandra cried out as her foot got stuck on the window. "My foot's caught!"

Lyra pulled and tugged. Finally, with a hard yank and careful maneuvering of Cassandra's right foot, they got her foot out of the gutter and carefully climbed the roof. "Look—here's the Master's window. I'll knock and he'll let us in." She followed according to the plan, watching the reaction of the Master when he saw her face. He looked shocked, confused, and then amused as he opened the window and let the three children-no-longer-children jump in.

"Lyra Belacqua—what are you doing here?" Master asked. "And who are these two young people?"

"Well—" Lyra faltered.

"Do you have any idea how much trouble you are in and what the government places a price on your head today?" the Master raged. "Jordan College has been examined and inconveniences placed because of you." His voice was calm but there was an underlying tone of rage that frightened the children-no-longer-children.

"I'm sorry, I really am, Master," Lyra replied sorrowfully and truthfully. She, Will, and Cassandra all ducked their heads in apology. "We never meant to cause trouble."

"Well." The Master considered the situation. "I shan't tell the government, but you will have consequences should you return. But unless this is a purely social visit—and I doubt it is—state your reason."

"You see, Master," Lyra spoke in a tumble, "we had the orb that you gave us and I don't think you meant any harm, but it was starting to scare me, and I wanted to find Serafina to see what this thing was. We traveled up North to get Will's knife because there's something bad gonna happen in the future. Serafina got sick by the orb and I went to another world and found Will again and Cassandra came with me…" Lyra had to shake it out in order later on.

The Master looked stunned at the jumbled-up story Lyra narrated. He pounded his knuckles against his desk. "So you need lodging and you're going to the Magisterium to get back that knife that you need?"

"Yeah, that's what I mean," Lyra answered eagerly. "So if you could…"

After another long silence, the Master spoke again. "I am a member of a group in the Magisterium; however, I don't approve of their actions but I don't let them know that. Tomorrow, there is a meeting, so if I could somehow assist you in any way, I would. I will think about it tonight."

"Thank you, Master," Lyra gasped but lowered her voice to a more respectful tone.

"You may lodge in Lyra's room. I will alert the servants, so don't worry."

Lyra went back first and the others followed. Mary was waiting. "Well?" she asked impatiently.

"We all can stay," Lyra reported. "I think I have extra blankets in this closet…"

While Lyra was rummaging for blankets, Will looked around. What a dank, dark, and dreary place it was, with stone and cold and rusty taps and a hard bed! He wouldn't have liked to live here, he was sure. But Lyra was perfectly contented, this being her lodging until quite recently.

"Got it!" Lyra held the blankets up triumphantly.

When they were all tucked in their blankets and Lyra on her old familiar bed, she thought about how much things had changed since she was twelve. At twelve, she had childish naiveté, silly fantastic ideas, and no idea how the world really worked, how the world was stone-hard and cold. Her newer experiences had put her on the run, in danger of death, in danger of the world; everything had been at stake, and it was pure luck that she and Will survived. Or perhaps it was destiny.

Round and round her thoughts went in her head until she was dizzy and sleepy from the hard thinking. She closed her eyes with Pantalaimon on the floor, unable to curl up next to her. Lyra felt lonely, having her special companion for life being separated by the barren wasteland she had crossed through. Pan couldn't be warming her up now; she'd have to survive on her own. Was it like that for Will, who had a mentally disturbed mother and had to fend for himself?

She remembered the look in his eyes, the false bravery but hurt underneath the shallow layer. He'd grown tough in twelve years of age, and no doubt he would have gotten into fights at school, boys teasing him about his mother.

She closed her eyes tightly to stop from feeling dizzy and kept them closed until she was aware of light streaming through her window. She opened her eyes reluctantly: she'd gotten very little sleep over the past couple of months. "What time is it?" she asked groggily.

"Eleven in the morning, Miss Lyra, and you've gotten us into trouble, you have." A stern voice reprimanded her sharply and a damp cloth was rubbing her face. "Look at you! Your face's so thin and ragged!"

Lyra recognized Mrs. Lonsdale. "Mrs. Lonsdale?"

"You're right you are, you little chit, sneaking off from a perfectly respectable school—"

"I had good reason!" Lyra shouted, sitting up in bed. She pushed away the damp cloth and saw everyone who'd been there last night and the recent addition of the stout, plump, and red-faced woman standing around her. "What day is it?"

"December 31st," Mrs. Lonsdale said right off the bat.

"December 31st…I was asleep for two days!" Lyra exclaimed. "Was I sick?"

"You were thrashing about and muttering something about Mrs. Coulter," Will said in a soothing voice. "You had a fever." He leaned over to Lyra and kissed her cheek.

"Oh, so you've a lover, Miss Lyra?" Mrs. Lonsdale chuckled, unlike her sharp tone she'd used a minute before. "I never knew that."

Will and Lyra blushed.

"Well, I won't be making people uncomfortable; I won't, with other duties to do. You two lovebirds stay here while I get your boy decent clothing," Mrs. Lonsdale muttered. She set off down the stairs, her steps heavy and thumping.

"I was really asleep for two days?" Lyra asked once out of earshot from Mrs. Lonsdale.

"Mm-hmm," Mary agreed. "We were worried about you. How did you get sick?"

"Some virus, I dunno," Lyra murmured. "I'm not carrying the orb—no one wants that."

"I locked up the house and put on a burglar alarm system before we left," Mary reassured Will, who was asking if they'd taken proper precautions on the orb. "And besides, I hid it where no one would suspect. And I'm not telling you where it is."

"Makes sense," Will said under his breath. "But what do we do now? The Magisterium's sure to know your plan. We've been here for three days!"

"I don't think they know how to forge the knife back together. Only Iorek can do that," Lyra remembered.

"Yeah, but other panserbjorne know how to do that too," he said.

"Oh. Damn," Lyra cursed. "Damn it, I'd forgotten."

"So, we're always stuck at a dead end, aren't we?" Cassandra shuffled her feet.

"Shut up about the dead end and you'd do us a favor," Will snapped. "We need to start thinking about what to do next. The Master's already had his meeting and he told us the next one's in a month, so we need to act—fast."

"All right, a month is enough." Mary nodded her head and crossed her arms. "What I'm worried about is if they make a journey to the Arctic."


	9. Caught!

"Well, what are we going to do now?" Lyra asked, recovering from her illness. "We're not gonna be able to make the meeting."

"We missed it, remember?" asked Will grimly. "That means we've got to sneak into the Magisterium's building. Damn it," he cursed. "That's going to be fun, I'm sure." His tone was sarcastic.

"I'm not going to let the Magisterium steal the relics again! Give me the alethiometer!" she demanded. Will gave it to her, and Lyra let her mind wander to ask a question with the knobs. When Will leant in to look, she gently pushed him a little bit off so that she could properly concentrate. Her mind was empty, so the big needle began to swing. Round and round it went, stopping randomly until it finished its full course, and Lyra felt that deep peacefulness, like looking into a pool of water and only by staying still could she decipher the subtle meanings. When she finally drew the last meaning, like carefully maneuvering her hand in a pond to pick up colored rocks without rippling and causing disturbance, she snapped out of her frame of mind.

"Well, what does it say?" Mary, who was sitting in a chair but witnessed the action stood up and leant over Lyra as well. "I don't know a bit, but you can help. I'm not from this world." Suddenly, Mary had a very strange expression, one that was full of sadness and sorrow and homesickness in her features, but she straightened it out and it became neutral once more.

Lyra saw the change but pretended not to take notice. The more important thing was the symbols and their meaning. "Well, it says that we're going to go on the first full moon, and we've got to be quick, or else. And there's a secret room somewhere where they hid the knife, so it's not being used. Well, at least no one needs to use it."

Cassandra, sitting on another chair and tapping her foot impatiently, all of the sudden jumped up. "Are we done? Because I'm starved, and I don't want to sit here all day." She began to open the door and go down the stairs.

"Stop! Are you joking? You've got a price over your head and mine," Lyra said.

"Well, why shouldn't I go outside?"

"It's stupid! You'll get caught and Mary and Will are going to go back and we're never going to get that knife back like Serafina told us to. Anyway," Lyra mumbled, reverting to her old vocabulary, "I en't going to let them go back." Cassandra really had no wits. Of course everyone would be searching for them, and it was a miracle that they'd managed for the Master to keep their secret, and Mrs. Lonsdale as well. "You just try me." She tried to get up and walk, but her view started to spin lazily so she sat back down.

"Well, nothing you can do now." Cassandra turned on her heels and walked down the stairs.

"If she gets caught, serves her right," said Lyra.

There was a clatter and crash of what sounded like metal disks. Everyone in the room turned their attention toward the stairs. The sound echoed in ringing waves off the enclosed stone walls and everyone clapped their hands over their ears. Then, a loud "What were you thinking, girl, sneaking off without permission? You're just as bad as Miss Lyra here." "Miss Lyra" wasn't surprised when Mrs. Lonsdale came in, dragging Cassandra by her dress collar. Lyra gave a laugh.

"That's a good joke," Will chuckled when he saw the furious Cassandra being dragged to the chair she had been sitting on and receiving a stern lecture from Mrs. Lonsdale.

While Lyra was recovering, Mary and Will, who would not be recognized by the Magisterium or Jordan College's more evil servants who vowed vengeance on Lyra, went out to get some things to pass the time. There was a small mechanical gyropter that Lyra liked to maneuver it about the room, and they also bought several books at the stalls in the Covered Market. One was about daemons, there was one about a boy having an adventure, and there was one for Mary's enjoyment, which was all about Lyra's world. In that way they kept themselves occupied until Lyra was well enough to stand, walk, sit, and run a little. It took a week or so until Lyra was recovered to her full strength, and even so, she felt odd, like there was a part of her was missing. "Don't worry," Mary said, "it's natural." Lyra still doubted Mary's words, even though she'd heard them a million times when she expressed her thoughts.

They just stayed there, bored out of their minds until one day, Mrs. Lonsdale came huffing and puffing up the stairs, announcing, "The Master wants to see all of you. Run now, to the Summer House. He ain't going to wait for an hour."

Lyra put on her shoes; Mary got up; Will jumped and started to run down the stairs; Cassandra treated them with indifference to their reactions but got up anyway. "Well, what're you waiting for?" Lyra shouted joyfully. "Let's go!" She clattered down the stone stairway with the others following her. Mrs. Lonsdale was left standing in the room, amazed at the amount of noise they could make just going downstairs.

Lyra outran Will and knocked on the Summer House door first, slightly out of breath. When the Master opened the door, he looked at the half-childish, half-grown-up figure with her tousled wavy long blond hair and he remembered how Lyra used to be. He let all the children (and one adult) go in before he himself began to talk with them about their important relic.

"Well, anything about the knife?" Lyra said with a due amount of respect. "I think the Magisterium's got it, sir." When the Master didn't answer, she added, "Well, _is _there any news?" She tapped her fingers impatiently on the Master's desk. The knife was very important.

The Master removed her hands and cleared his throat. "There is another opportunity: tomorrow. There is a meeting, and if you can disguise yourselves or something or the other, there may be a chance that you can steal it back. But I have to warn you: the guards there are very tricky. Cassandra has to dye her hair and Lyra needs to put on false eye lenses so that her eyes will appear brown."

"False eye lenses?" Lyra asked. "What are those?"

"Contact lenses," Will explained. "You put them on your eyes to see better without glasses, and sometimes actors use 'em to change eye color."

"Precisely," the Master said. "Well, I advise for someone to pick up brown hair dye and false eye lenses." He stood up. "Now, tomorrow, we shall be going to the Magisterium's building to find your Subtle Knife. Be warned that if you are caught, I will not make any statements that hint that we are related in this matter."

Will looked at Lyra worriedly; Mary did the same to Cassandra. "Well, we en't going to be caught," Lyra said stubbornly. "We're too smart for that."

"I wasn't suggesting that." The Master gave a stern look. "Now, go off to sleep. I'll send Mrs. Lonsdale to wake you up at five in the morning. The meeting starts at seven and I like to be there an hour early to shake things into order. Good night." He waved his hand again and everybody got up to leave.

The night sky was settling in, but not without a little struggle with the pink clouds of the sunset. The sky was blue, nearly black, and it reminded Lyra of everything she had been through. She shuddered.

"What is it?" Will took her into his arms and kissed her cheek.

"It's just…that, well, it feels so strange, like I'm in a trance. It's been like that on and off nowadays, like I can't get something to clear from my head and—I don't know!—I'm seeing everything wrong!" She gave a stamp of impatience. Ever since her sickness, it seemed that everything was odd, like something slightly out of place, more out of place than usual. She just didn't belong. Lyra felt exasperated and frightened about her state of mind. She remembered the Tartars, the harpies, the ghosts, the bloodshed and war… It was all imprinted in her mind, and she couldn't get it out, no matter how desperately she tried. Pantalaimon sensed her fear and snuggled close to her. "Thanks, Pan." Lyra felt a sob rising in her throat, one that wouldn't stop making her throat ache.

"What d'you mean, everything's wrong?" Will and Mary asked gently.

"I don't know, I told you! It's all haunting me! And it feels like the world's falling in on me, nearly, and sometimes, I just get so frightened!" Lyra fought back the tears with a Herculaneum effort, but at last, she just let them spill out. "And then I wonder what it's like dying, and what poor Mr. Scoresby felt; it's just…bad!" She gave up and leaned against Will's shoulder, to try to smell out something that would link her to her familiar past, but she couldn't. Nothing was right.

How could anything be so strange? Will and Mary and Cassandra tried to comfort her, shushing and murmuring words of comfort. Will repeatedly kept kissing her cheek and forehead. Kirjava, his daemon, walked aside Pantalaimon. Will would give anything so that Lyra was in a better frame of mind, for she would need all her wits tomorrow.

"How 'bout I sleep with you tonight?" Will asked. But a second later, he remembered the double meaning and he felt his cheeks burn.

"Sure." Lyra, ignorant of the words people used that hat two meanings, climbed up onto her bed after putting her nightgown on and patted the side. "Get in. And besides, I'm so tired—but nothing feels right. It'd be nice to know someone's beside me asides from Pantalaimion."

Will kissed Lyra on the mouth. Lyra enjoyed the blissful experience, and when they pulled apart, they were both slightly out of breath. "Well, I supposed there isn't any harm in this." Will snuggled down into Lyra's bed, and felt the warm body next to him, as did Lyra.

They would all need to keep their strength and cunning, because the next day, it was a life or death choice in which they would try to go for life.

Pantalaimon sat on the floor, the bed being too big for both Lyra and Will, and Kirjava huddled next to him, their breathing even and steady. Daemons and humans both felt a sense of peace that they hadn't felt for a long time. In her sleep, Lyra felt at home, just like she used to feel before Mrs. Coulter took her away and ended up changed. It wasn't exactly a conscious feeling, but she sensed it.

It wasn't until Mrs. Lonsdale shone a light near Lyra's eyes that she bothered to wake up. She felt as if she was immersed in a well of chocolatl pudding, and she struggled to open her eyes. She blinked and was blinded by the naphtha lantern Mrs. Lonsdale held up to her face. "Quick," Mrs. Lonsdale whispered, "and you've got to get dressed. I'll send Bernie with some breakfast for you all. Well, hurry, Miss Lyra!"

Lyra mumbled, "But it's so hard." She yawned, reluctantly tore off the bedclothes, and hurriedly pulled on a dress, stockings, and shoes while Mrs. Lonsdale tried to wrestle with her gold snarls. "Ow!" she yelped when Mrs. Lonsdale yanked through a knot the size of her thumbnail. "D'you want me to be bald or not?" She felt like a child again, when Mrs. Lonsdale or the servants had caught her for supper and was forced to wear her best clothing. Pan growled recalling the unpleasant memory.

The air at five in the morning was crisp and clean. Outside, the sky was still dark, but the stars were very dimly lit and fading away into the morning light. It would turn pewter gray soon, and then sunrise would proceed. Mary, Cassandra, Will, and Lyra (and their daemons) ran to the main entrance to wait for the Master. Bernie Johansen, the half gyptian man, gave a large bag of pastries and said, "Glad to have you back, Lyra." He gave her a pat on the back before running back down to the kitchen, where there would be a large dinner with the Corean Professor and the Zoroastrian expert. Even at the main entrance, where it was quite far away from below, everyone could hear the faint clanging and shouting from the kitchen.

Lyra felt a rush of affection for Bernie and everyone who had taken care of her, but she shook it off. The events today were more important than Jordan College; it concerned the whole world, if possible. Right now, she didn't feel anything—just neutral.

"What's the matter?" Mary walked over to Lyra.

"Nothin'," Lyra said, shaking her head and stroking Pantalaimon's glossy gray fur. "It isn't anything, except I don't really feel anything right now."

Mary gave her a small smile before returning to Cassandra, who was now proving to be stupid, impulsive, but affectionate when needed. Lyra sighed. Cassandra once had been a great companion, but now she was no more than a nuisance, a thorn in her side. But she still could not turn her in. _Cassandra can't be turned in,_ Lyra thought. _It isn't fair, and I'm not going to be right after that. _

The zeppelin, which was to transport the Master to the Magisterium's main building—which was located in London, a good several hours away from here—landed in the large Yaxley Quad, and Lyra shouted, "Let's go." She looked around but saw no Master. "Wait—what happened? Where's the Master?"

"I dunno…" Cassandra looked around also and was just as bewildered. "I thought he'd come." She stood there stupidly.

They were obliged to wait for five more minutes before the Master, a little tardy, came rushing to the zeppelin. "I am very sorry and I must apologize; there seems to be a matter of papers and presentations." He walked, rather proudly and grandly, up the walk to the inside of the zeppelin; everyone trailed behind respectfully, for after all, he was a Master of Jordan College. He was the highest of the highest.

When Lyra looked out the small windows and saw, in a few hours later after she woke up thoroughly, she remembered when she lived with Mrs. Coulter: she had interacted with the crème de la crème, had soirees and parties and balls, but by far, Jordan College and Oxford life was what she only wanted. Pantalaimon sat on her lap, letting out a little howl at London. "Shush, Pan," Lyra scolded.

"Well, don't you remember Mrs. Coulter?" Pantalaimon hopped down a foot to the ground.

"Of course! 'Cept I don't want to, that's all."

"That makes sense for once."

Lyra ignored the stinging remark from Pan and looked out the window again. "I think I can see some of the department stores Mrs. Coulter took us to. You know, Pan, I'm glad we aren't living with her. I hated being a universal pet, kind of."

"We're there," the Master announced. As soon as the zeppelin drifted to a stop (and Lyra's stomach stopped feeling queasy) they all walked off and breathed in the air; the air inside the zeppelin had been pressurized and it felt stuffy. Lyra took in a deep breath and Pantalaimon panted. Will stepped out and Kirjava leapt onto his shoulder. Cassandra's daemon, Coppelius, which was now a rusty-colored dog, barked. Mary held a bag close to her.

The Master led his way across several busy streets. Will looked around and thought, _this is so different from my world. I miss Mum. And Moxie. But at least Kirjava's with me._ How different it all seemed to him! The streets weren't polluted and the cars didn't honk. There weren't even traffic lights. However, there was the Chthonic Railway. _Chthonic _meant _relating to the underworld_, Will remembered, and how suiting it was for the tube. That held a glimmer of familiarity to him, and he was comforted a little, if not completely. For Lyra, this was all just a part of her everyday life.

"We're there." The Master stopped at an ornately carved building, with marble and gold fixtures fit for a king. There the air was already warm, and the carpet-covered stairs they stepped on had brass-painted-gold rails. "Now, I shall show you the secret entrance, but once inside, you must not make a sound. The reason the guards aren't here is because they're all called in for some unruly gyptians who are protesting against the Magisterium."

Lyra gave a jump and stroked Pantalaimon's fur for comfort. "The gyptians? I thought they were good! Ma Costa and Tony and Billy won't be making a fuss, and John Faa either."

The Master led them round the right and they walked for ten minutes; so large and grand and opulent the Magisterium's main building was! In the back, no one walked, and they were the only ones. Their shoes tapped quietly for the first five minutes or so, but then, without changing the hardness, they made no sound. It was eerie, Lyra and Will thought, and their daemons curled around them tightly.

"Are we there?" Will asked. Cassandra was the one to shush him this time. "Shut up!"—Will turned to Cassandra—"I'm whispering! I'm not even doing anything!"

As they went through the back, even though it was supposed to be inferior to the grand foyer in the front, it was still rich and sprinkled with gold all over, as if the maker of this magnificent building had been given money like sweets and spent it lavishly all over, even the back, where there was no need to make an impression. The Master opened a door, and quietly ushered them in.

Lyra could only gasp. The carpet was a crimson red, with paintings of Adam and Eve with their daemons on the ceiling. The large domed ceiling made it seem like it would take ages to reach the top. There were white marble sculptures, veined gray and carved into intricate designs. A statue of a woman dressed in Grecian clothing seemed more alive than Lyra herself. The doors were made of mahogany and had gold knobs. When she looked at Will, he seemed to show the same astonishment. Then he shot her a look that said, _we don't have anything like this back home._ Lyra nodded.

The Master waved to get everyone's attention. "All right. Now, there's a secret door to your left. D'you see the marble statue of the lady?"—he pointed to a statue of a lady with curled hair—"and he pushed them all in.

The passage was narrow and cramped. They could enter only single file. Pantalaimon huddled close to Lyra and padded quietly as he could with his wolf paws. She could hear everyone's nervous breathing, and found herself doing it as well; and tried to stop doing it, for any sound would give them away, but couldn't. Cassandra's foot thumped against something, but luckily, no one suspected. Mary once coughed, and Lyra found herself nearly sneezing with all the dust in the doorway. Probably no one had used it for years.

At the end of the tunnel was a little door; the knob was still gold. Lyra tentatively put a hand out to open the doorknob. She could hear Cassandra trying to start an argument with Will, but he wasn't paying any attention. "Shut up, Cassandra!" she hissed. "You're the one who's gonna get us in trouble!"

"…You don't like me," Cassandra muttered, the first few words being incoherent.

"Well, that's hard luck, 'cause we're stuck!" Lyra opened the doorknob quickly and looked around—there! There was the Subtle Knife! She hopped down six feet and landed softly, if not noiselessly, on the thick green carpet that lined the floor. "Quick! Go get the knife, Will!"

Will grabbed the knife that was lying on a table, but a man entered, and, seeing a bunch of teenagers and an adult stealing the knife, he yelled, "Security! There's someone nicking our stuff!" Obviously, the man was not much older than them, and must be in training to be a member of the Magisterium's Cabinet, and he wasn't using language like what Lyra had heard before.

"Run!" Lyra screamed, and she stood frozen for a second before punching the man in the nose and ran down the hall to the right. People were coming in from that way. Will, Mary, and Cassandra bumped into her and they tried the left. But people were also coming in from that way, loaded with guns and rifles and some sort of anbaric equipment.

They were caught.


	10. Where To Go?

Lyra stood there, panicking on the inside. Her face must've shown her emotions, because a man to her upper left grinned, and what a smile it was! It was like a cat finally cornering a mouse and gaining satisfaction from watching the mouse be tortured from its imminent, certain death. "If you want to get out of here alive, step away," she tried to say, but the words stuck in her throat. She realized that she wasn't breathing and took a breath, but it was almost like a shivering breath. A sickly feeling seeped into her stomach and her heart suddenly rose up into her throat. She didn't dare look around.

"Give me that knife and I won't harm you," a thick-necked, robust man cooed gently, as if trying to convince a little child he wasn't dangerous at all.

"No! I'm not going to give it to you!" Lyra shouted. Her energy seemed to have been restored. "You stupid old man, why d'you think I'd give it to you?" She ran forward and gave him a satisfying crack at his jaw. He shouted, and everybody sprang into action.

It was idiotic to fight when they were so outnumbered, so while everyone was concentrating on beating her up, Lyra whistled to Mary, Will, and Cassandra, and they ducked under everyone. Lyra felt someone step on her foot and kick her head, but she kept on going, ignoring the sharp pain, running liquid, and ache on her head. Everyone seemed to be trying to kick her. At last she weaved out of the throng of people doing more harm to themselves than the intended victims, and they ran down the hallway.

"They're getting away!" A man pointed at them and she heard clattering feet. Lyra took a fearful glance over her shoulder to measure how far away they were, and was startled because they were exceptionally fast runners; they were no more than ten yards away.

"Quick," Will gasped, "Find an entrance! Look, there's a door!" He opened a black-painted door and let Lyra, Mary, and Cassandra rush in before locking it. It turned out that the door led down a hallway. "Let's go down—no, wait, barricade the door. They'll take longer." He found a chair and jammed it under the doorknob. But when he looked at the hallway, it was, after all, dimly lit and looked eerie; he could hardly see Lyra, and she was next to him. He was thinking that perhaps it would be better to get caught than go down that way. The door shook faintly with pounding, and in desperation, he ran down the hall. Everyone followed him.

They all clattered down the hall. Sometime during their running, they heard the door break, and they ran even faster. Will saw a door, another door that was blue, and hoping it would lead to a room instead of a dimly lit hallway, he burst through with his friends behind him.

Lyra and Will saw the scene first: a long, oval table made out of mahogany wood, with bright fluorescent white anbaric lights that shone on the glossy table. There were people sitting there, and the first thing both of them noticed was that the Master wasn't there.

A man sprang forward and tried to choke Lyra. She felt his arm on her throat, and she pounded his face with her fists, kicked his shins, and did anything to get away. She also tried to slip her chin out of the little space between her chin and his crook of his elbow, but he was exceptionally strong for a man about fifty. Lyra convulsed for air—she must have air!—her very lungs were screaming for it! She began to cry in shame and fear, frightened, truly frightened whether her life would end. Would no one help? Crying only shortened her amount of air.

Will, while fighting off a thirty-some year-old man, gave the man a powerful kick and pounded Lyra's choker on the back. The knock seemed to have winded him, and he let go of Lyra. She stood there, coughing and gasping for air, but as soon as she was sure that she was fine, she gave another kick at her attacker and helped Will, who was in a double Nelson by a distinguished-looking man with a grayish-black beard. Lyra grabbed hold of a chair, and, not realizing how heavy it was by her adrenaline rushing through her veins, she slammed it down on the bearded man. Splinters of wood and pieces of broken chair flew everywhere, and the bearded man had blood running down his head, staining his suit.

Before long, the attackers were unconscious, but there were people behind them. Suddenly, Will felt he had no more strength, and Lyra felt as if all her energy had somehow been sapped out of her. Pantalaimon, in his now-settled wolf form, tried as hard as he could, poor thing, to fight a person's daemon, but he let go and stepped back, still growling. Mary and Cassandra looked equally exhausted. What was happening? Will's view was growing black, and the floor came up to bang, painfully, his head.

Lyra saw him collapse and struggled. She wanted to do the same, but she mustn't! Pantalaimon stood beside her, and she stared at the intruders in fear. Neither Lyra and Cassandra and Mary or the intruders moved, but in one swift motion, a particularly nasty-looking man's cheetah daemon had Pantalaimon's throat in his jaws, and Lyra cried out in shock and pain. There seemed to be an itching, unbearable sensation of stinging, and then she knew no more.

When she woke up, the only thing she was aware of was a smell…curiously like some kind of broth. She found she had no energy to open her eyes, so she groped around and found a face. Lyra felt it, and knew at once it was Will. She flopped back down onto whatever she was on, feeling curiously comfortable, and finally, after what seemed an eternity, she struggled to make her eyelids lift. She had to force them.

"Mm? Will—you awake?" she asked groggily. At once she recognized that she was back in Staircase Twelve—again. What had happened? The last few events had thrown whatever was left of her mind into darkness, and she had to think so hard to remember up to this point…Of course! She had gotten bitten, or rather Pan had been injured, and they lost consciousness. "Pan?" she said, a little bit hesitantly. When the familiar wolfish shape of her daemon came skulking into the room, a blur of majestic gray-white with blue eyes, she relaxed and petted Pantalaimion. "What happened? I passed out, so did you."

"I don't know what happened, any more than you." Pantalaimon gave her a reassuring lick on her hand. "But I'm glad I'm alive."

"Me too, Pan. I just wish—I just wish everybody en't bothered 'cause of me, you know, Lee Scoresby, he died for me—and what about Serafina Pekkala? She helped us, and she nearly died."

"It's not your fault. You were destined."

"Huh! Some destiny," Lyra snorted sarcastically. "It isn't the fairy-tale stuff they tell us, for sure."

Pan gave a wolf smile, his white teeth glinting. All at once Lyra suddenly realized that it was dark in the room, but the last time she was conscious, it had been light. Had she passed out again, perhaps for three, four days?

Now she traced the smell: there was a tray on a table right next to her, and there was a bowl of chicken broth, probably from Bernie, who had always been fond of her for running around the roof and was half gyptian himself; he had been a spy to Farder Coram and John Faa. Lyra tried to lift her arm up, but her arms felt hollow, and everything else—muscles, bones, fat, veins, blood—felt too heavy to lift.

No Mrs. Lonsdale came, but Mary was by her side, dozing off, and Cassandra was in a makeshift bed, a straw pallet, and slept soundly. It felt strange, and Lyra felt now that it was forbidden to speak in all this silence. Even Pantalaimon's heavy wolf paws made no sound. How eerie it was.

She sat there; she was waiting for what seemed like many hours before Will woke up, rubbing his head. "Ow. I think I got hit on the head."

"But you've got the knife, right?" Lyra was anxious to know.

"I put it in a bag. I think Mary's got it…" He looked around and saw that in a bag, the cold sharp metal of the knife glimmered and winked in the faint light. "Yeah. It's safe."

"Good. But how did we end up here?"

"I don't know." Will rubbed his head again; he was so tired, he could have slept for days. Perhaps he _had _slept for days. He didn't know. "At least they can't get the knife."

"No," Lyra said happily. "They can't." For a moment, she was perfectly content.

The door suddenly burst open, and Mrs. Lonsdale's broad figure filled up part of the room. "Ah, Lyra, so you're up. And your lover too, I'll reckon." She held up the bowl of broth and said, perhaps more gently than she'd ever said before, "Eat. You've been out for two days, and the Master was getting worried about you, all right. You'd better report to him soon's you're well enough."

Lyra sipped half the broth, tasting the chicken. The broth was light and not very oily, which meant it wouldn't make her cough. She had a feeling that if she ate anything too rich, she might end up coughing for a long time. "I'm full," she replied, and settled back down onto her pillow. Mrs. Lonsdale then fed Will, who was feeling a bit childish and embarrassed. When he was full, Lyra let him put a hand on her arm.

"Rest," Mrs. Lonsdale insisted. "You look worse'n you did when you got ill that one time. Look in the mirror, and see." She held up a looking-glass to Lyra's face.

Lyra was shocked. Her skin was ivory-pale, and where her eyes were, the skin around them had sunken in slightly. Never had she looked so awful. A thin film of perspiration lay on her forehead, and her eyes had a tired and weary look about them. Her hair, once golden-blond and slightly curly, lay in damp waves to her back. The hair was straggly and she looked like she'd been ill, once she thought about it. "I look horrible," she could only say in amazement. "What happened? There's a bruise right on my forehead." She suddenly remembered that the man's daemon had bitten Pantalaimon's neck, and she opened up part of her nightgown to see if there had been a mark, for when the daemon was severely injured like that, there was bound to be some kind of sign. There was a mark, like two tiny teeth had bitten her neck. She put a hand to there, and it stung. Lyra winced.

Mrs. Lonsdale took the mirror to Will, and it was his turn to be shocked. His face looked so thin, and the thick black hair on his head made it look thinner. There were gray half-crescents under his eyes, and his brown eyes had lost all their sparkle. He held the mirror up to his left hand, and saw that it was thin and he could faintly see the veins. His skin had an ashen tinge, and although he didn't look feverish, he looked ill nevertheless. He was frightened for himself, and Kirjava leapt up onto his lap and he stroked her fur. "I look terrible too," he said. Then he saw bruises on his cheek and forehead; they were grayish-purplish in color and looked like he'd been in a fight. He _had_ been in a fight.

Both of them were tired and wanted to go back to sleep. But before Will could start closing his eyes, Lyra pinched his arm and asked, "What happened?"

Mrs. Lonsdale only shook her head. "I daren't tell, child. The Master will tell you." She cleared the dishes and thumped downstairs.

The boy and the girl fell asleep, worn out by everything.

"Well, so what happened?" Lyra demanded when they saw the Master. She suddenly felt dizzy, and half-collapsed. Will and Mary supported her and put her down on a chair. "Did you help us?"

The Master nodded slowly. "Yes, I came in just as you lost consciousness. I had a feeling that you might be in trouble, and when I heard the noise coming in from the next room and screaming, I knew that you were in trouble. I called them off, saying that I needed the knife. Since I'm in the Magisterium's Cabinet, they cannot refuse me.

"I carried you up to your room as well as Will. Mary and Cassandra were fine, but some people had given them some kind of poison. Luckily, it was only very mild; the person who gave the poison gave just a very little bit over what the body can handle safely. I called in Bernie, because he knows how to treat poison—learned that from Farder…Coram, I think. He's dead now."

Lyra nodded her head and stood up, with Mary, Cassandra, and Will watching in case something happened. "What're we going to do now?" She thought for a long time, but nothing could come. She was remembering something that Serafina had said… "Will," she said suddenly. "Didn't Serafina say that you have to close all openings that you made, except for the one that you made for the World of the Dead and our worlds? We need the knife." But a sudden thought came into her head: if Will completely closed off the opening between his and her world, then they'd never see each other again. It was a disturbing thought. She pushed it out of her head.

"Then you must do as Serafina told you to do. She may be waiting up near Lake Enara or come to you directly. Wait ten days, and if she does not come, then travel up to the North."

"Up North again? That's one more time I don't like to do it," Cassandra grumbled. Lately, it seemed that she had been doing a lot of grumbling instead of helping. "I wish I were back at St. Sophia's."

"Fine. Go there yourself. Get caught, and we won't help you," Lyra said stubbornly. "You're missing out on a lot."

"All right. I'll get caught, and I'll turn you in too," she threatened. "You gonna be in big trouble with the Magisterium, all right."

"What do you know what they want?"

"I dare to turn you in," Cassandra shouted. "I dare. I'll go tonight; you'll see."

"You won't dare. You're a fraidy-cat, that's what you are, and Coppelius too."

Cassandra frowned and slapped Lyra. Lyra put a hand to her cheek where it stung, and tears came to her eyes. "You take that back!"

"Stop bickering," Mary intervened. "Cassandra, do what you want. But let Lyra go. It's crucially important that Lyra goes with Will."

"Fine, I'll go." Cassandra walked out the door. Lyra felt as if a great weight had been lifted from her back or her head. Either way, she felt less burdened than before, and she had a lot to worry about. But she had a feeling that she'd miss Cassandra.


	11. There's Something in the Air

"Serafina

"Serafina!" Lyra exclaimed. After waiting for ten long days without any proper activities, Lyra and Will both were beginning to feel bored and rebellious. Mary had no problem; since she wasn't on the alert of the Magisterium, she bought several books and spent all ten days eagerly flipping through the types of books Lyra considered boring and what Will considered "interesting sometimes, but mostly sounds like the history text."

"Did the Master alert you to my arrival?" asked Serafina. "I had been hoping that he did." Changing her tone now and calling her daemon Kaisa to her side, she said, "We have the crucial items returned. Lyra has the alethiometer and Will has the knife. You ought to know that there is warfare now in the Magisterium. They have seen these objects of power, and though their grasp on the world is much weakened, the Magisterium still craves wealth and control.

"You mean they still want our stuff?" She clutched the bag that held the alethiometer protectively while Pantalaimon stood in front of her, menacing in his unchanged wolf form. "I just wish I could tell them we aren't going to give those up. We'll fight to the death if we have to." Lyra's face showed determination and fierceness, which the witch pitied and admired in turns.

"They not only want what you possess, but what you do not possess," Serafina said sadly. "We must hasten to search. Your silver orb is obviously not the real object. The Magisterium is aware of that. They have already sent spies, and they have new technology now, something worse than the Silver Guillotine. The Magisterium is using the same method that Lord Asriel did, but it multiplies the energy and manipulates it so that they can send several spies. You are far behind with your knife." She sat down on a chair and laid down her cloud-pine branch before motioning for the Subtle Knife. With care, she fingered the blade with her slender, tapered fingers, careful not to cut herself on the sharp edge but curious enough to admire the shifting metallic colors on the knife.

"Well, let's get going then." Will took back the knife and placed it in its hilt. "We've got a long way to go, and I'm getting homesick. I'd at least like to see my world one more time."

"There is no time, Will Parry. We must leave this world tomorrow. The Republic of Heaven is fragile; all creatures are back to their natural state, but the Magisterium disrupts it more and more. We must end the Magisterium, even if it is in its most delicate state, and close the openings between the worlds. Beware; the Magisterium waxes strong and dangerous even if it is weak at present." She looked piercingly into Will's brown eyes until he had to look away for the seriousness and intent she had in her mind.

"Get some rest." Mary rubbed her tired eyes and took off her glasses. "I'm starved. D'you think you can get Mrs. Lonsdale to carry up some tea, butter, and biscuits?"

"I dunno, but I can try." Lyra clattered down the stairs to the kitchen, where everyone had gone to bed but for Bernie. "Hey, Bernie, we haven't got much time. Could you get us some biscuits and tea and butter?"

"Good Lord, Lyra, you going to get a feast, eh?" He chuckled, but started boiling water on the brass kettle and opened up the oven. "I've got night kitchen duty tonight, so's I'm able to get you food. Gossip's going round that you have a woman there and a boy about your age. Is that true?" The brass kettle whistled, so Bernie wrapped a rag around his hand and took the kettle off the stove. He sprinkled in tea leaves and let it stew for a few minutes before straining the leaves out and draining the liquid into a teapot.

She didn't know how to answer. She stood there, watching Bernie's facial expressions carefully. "I...er..."

"Never mind, Miss Lyra," he chuckled and tousled her hair. The biscuits were ready; he took them out on a plate and put the small ball of butter in a bowl, both on the tray. He then gingerly handled the teapot and teacups and the proper utensils for eating and drinking tea, all on the tray, and sent the girl on her way.

"Tea's here," she announced. She hadn't known that she had been hungry; over the past ten days, every time she looked at food, she had begun to feel nauseous, but she felt that familiar rumbling in her stomach and grabbed a biscuit and knife to cut off an edge of the butter ball. "I'm starved!" she said through a stuffed mouth, crumbs of biscuit falling from her lips.

"Hey, let the rest of us have a midnight snack too," Mary laughed and took three biscuits all at once. "Your Mrs. Lonsdale is feeling magnanimous tonight."

"It was Bernie."

"That really explains it."

Now that Lyra had got food in her stomach, she began to think, her mind working slowly as she was sluggish and tired after fasting. "Will...What do we do about the other orb?" She stole a glance to her bag, which held a wrapped-up orb, carefully hidden away and bundled in several towels stolen from the laundry. "We've got no place to put it."

"Keep it with us, just in case." Will stuffed the last of his biscuit into his mouth and swallowed it with a burning gulp of tea, which made him cough before he took in several deep breaths. "You might never know when we'll need it," he responded to Lyra's shocked and confused face.

"But won't it...well, we don't know what it does, do we?"

"No, we don't, so we'll share the orb."

"But not Serafina, Will," she said softly.

"Not Serafina," he agreed emphatically. "So we'll go tomorrow, just as she planned."

They all woke up early the next morning and, after Serafina called several of her sisters, stumbled from their beds half awake and groggily talking to each other about the adventures that would invariably proceed. But they were too exhausted to think properly, and ended up eating their breakfast with their eyelids half open. "So," Lyra yawned, "we're going back North again."

"I..." Will broke off to stretch, "don't feel like...going back again. I'm too bloody tired." Mary didn't even protest against his language. "We're lucky if we got five hours of sleep, or that's the way I feel. Do you feel like that too?"

"Yeah." She finished up her porridge and called for Mrs. Lonsdale to pick up the bowls once they were all done. She turned to her female, non-witch companion. "Is there a Magisterium in your world, Mary?"

Mary smiled. "No, but I think all governments are the same in all worlds. Your Magisterium's kind of like the Renaissance, where the church was the main ruling power. Now, UK's got a constitutional government." She was reminded of her own school days, questioning why there was a government and what could be done about injustice. "I expect the Magisterium has its own ruler not by election, but by selection."

"Well..." she hesitated, "I don't know how they get the next Pope on there. He's the ruling man. They chose him, I think, or there's a son, but no one ever said whether they wanted this man to be a pope or not."

"That's a monarchy, then."  
"What's that?"

"It's a type government where there are two categorizations: constitutional monarchy or absolute monarchy. The latter means the person who's on top of the government has all control. The constitutional monarchy is when the ruler's subject to a constitution, and even though he's technically the ruler, the people have a right, too."

"You certainly remembered your history. I never can. I fall asleep." Will glanced at his guardian with raised eyebrows. "I can't even remember what a gentile is."

"Isn't that a person who doesn't believe in the Jewish religion?"

"I forgot." He looked sleepily out the window and suddenly started from his chair. "Serafina's sisters are here!" He hastily combed his hair and adjusted his shirt, shoes, and pants. "Well, we've got to get our stuff ready!" Will was the one who tugged Lyra from her chair, made her brush her teeth and hair, and had her put on her warm clothing, as uncomfortable as it was. Mary and Will made sure to do the same before running out to greet, respectfully, the powerful witches.

"Come—we must hurry. Time is limited, and we must start the journey today. We will stop at a village in the North to gather supplies, and then Iorek Byrnison will meet you there. His bears are involved in stopping the Magisterium and allowing the Republic of Heaven to build back up," a chestnut-haired, icily blue-eyed witch said. She held out a slender, white hand to Lyra, who accepted her hand. "I am very glad to meet you, Lyra Silvertongue." Turning to the rest, she continued, "We have procured an aeronaut, as skilled as Lee Scoresby, who will transport you to the North. His name is Erik Olinedar, a man who comes from the North himself."

"D'you know what happened to Lee Scoresby?" Lyra asked.

"No." The witch smiled gently down at her. "What did happen?"

She hung her head. "Lee Scoresby was killed. And I didn't mean for it to happen, either."

"What is done is done. We must hurry." She rushed off all the people to meet Erik Olinedar.

Erik was a man who might be described as the complete opposite of Lee Scoresby. He had glinting blue eyes and fair hair, and all of that was on a sharp-planed face with a straight, thin nose. However, his mouth was surprisingly full for a sharp-planed man, but the mouth did not make him look idiotic; his mouth softened his sharp features and he looked both at once like a wolf and a young boy. He also had astonishingly big eyes, as light and sharply blue the irises were. "I've heard of you, Lyra Silvertongue, and also of you, Will Parry." Erik took out his rather slender hands to shake, and when the two mentioned people had shaken his hands, he smiled at Mary Malone. "She must be an advisor." And how could Lyra and Will be afraid of this man? His voice was baritone—unexpected for a man so muscular—but he had slender hands. Everything about Erik Olinedar was contradicting the other feature, but he did not look unpleasant or ugly.

And what about Mary?—She saw in him a kind of intelligence that she had not seen in other men. Intelligence is hard to describe—it could mean the level of understanding of a certain topic, or it could mean something deeper, the type of intelligence that is not gained by smartness but by both experience and wise judgment. And what she saw in Erik was the latter type of intelligence. She smiled back, cautiously, and asked, "Would you mind telling us the story of your life while we are on our way to the North?"

"I wouldn't mind at all." As soon as everything was ready, they were off to the North.

Lyra looked over her basket and saw that the view below was steadily shrinking until she thought she would fall off, and then Will, sensing her fear, pulled her down and gave her a reassuring hug. "Don't look until the balloon's leveled out. You'll only get scared," he said, putting one arm around Lyra's shoulder.

It took about an hour before the balloon leveled off, and then everyone was busy getting their ears to adjust to the changing pressure. After several yawns, inner-ear-pressure-popping, and other techniques to stop the pressure later, Erik commenced to tell his story. "Shall I begin?"

"Do begin. And will we be stopping for food and water?"

"This is a large basket, if you haven't noticed. There's a restroom off to your right and below us is where the food is stored, but it's seamlessly fitted in. And there are blankets and pillows. That's all you need but for an aeronaut." He looked around at everybody. "Well, I'm starting, but I'll have to stop every once in a while to steer the balloon the right course."

"Do go on and tell," Mary said eagerly.

"Well, all right. I promised. D'you know where I grew up? I grew up in Lapland, right where Serafina was. One of the witches, the blue-eyed and chestnut-haired witch with us today, had had a child with a human, and she had given birth to a boy. I was the boy, and the witches raised me with kindness. They taught me both English and the language of the North, knowing that I might need the knowledge. And my mother never failed to love me. However, she still views my life as fragile—as a human, our lives seem so quick, so fleeting that they feel sorry for us.

"When I grew up and decided that I wanted to be an aeronaut, my mother wasn't happy about it—I was already so fragile; why should I risk my life further? I argued, I begged, I pleaded with her to let me be an aeronaut. I'd already ridden in some, and I knew how to operate a hot-air balloon. But I loved her too much—how often is it that a witch, an independent creature, takes care of their own human boy? Oh, of course a girl witch they'll take care of, but a boy? That's very rare." He suddenly sprang up. "I need to steer for a while, so you can tell me some of your stories. I don't want to veer off course."

Lyra looked at their aeronaut. "Well, I'd like to have been brought up by witches." Thus expressing her wish, she narrated her story up until now, with occasional clarification by Will.

She had started out an ignorant girl, and then she was brought to Mrs. Coulter and was under the tutelage of the same Mrs. Coulter. When she'd discovered Mrs. Coulter was involved in a group that kidnapped children, she'd run away to the Costas. She found out about her parents: Lord Asriel (supposedly her uncle) was her father and Mrs. Coulter her mother. Then, she went up North, where she met Iorek Byrnison. However, she'd gotten trapped in the building where the Gobblers were, and then Iorek Byrnison rescued her. But then, she'd been in a balloon crash, and got kidnapped to Iofur Raknison. Deceiving Iofur, she convinced him to fight with Iorek, and Iorek got back his kingdom. Then she and her friend Roger had gone to Lord Asriel, her father. Lord Asriel, in the middle of the night, had kidnapped Roger and killed him to part the curtain between the two worlds. However, he did not know his daughter had followed him and witnessed everything, and crossed the bridge into another world.

Lyra only got so far until Erik came to sit again, and this time, he appeared tired. Mary asked, "Why, whatever's the matter?"

"It's nothing," he smiled, and dismissed her question with a wave of his white hand. "Well, shall I continue?" He did so as 3 heads and their daemons nodded. "I argued with my mother. And it pained me. But at last, after a year, she consented. And as she kissed my forehead in a blessing, she said, 'I'm giving you the chance to live your life. Your father never did. But you hear me—don't die. I wouldn't be able to bear it.' I haven't died yet, haven't I?" He chuckled lightly and spread his hands in a gesture of openness.

"Is your mother nice?" Lyra asked. She didn't care if it was an impertinent question; she had never had real training in terms of etiquette, and she didn't want to learn.

"Lyra!" Will said, as if he were her mother or Mary, as if he were the commanding figure. "It isn't nice to ask things like that." But then he drew her closer to him and gave her a kiss on the forehead.

"It's fine. My mother is very nice, but rather strict. She..." He tilted his head to the sky to think. "She lives on a set of rules, almost like the nuns in England, but she's much more...pious and beautiful than them. Witches are known for their intelligence and beauty, or so I like to think."

It was peaceful, so peaceful in the sky with its drifting clouds and the cold temperature that everyone stopped talking to gaze at the view around them. The sun was rising, and as the golden lights hit the atmosphere, it turned the sky into patches of blue, pink, violet, and yellow.

It was so peaceful; in fact it contrasted greatly with the carnage going on back in England. The Magisterium had started kidnapping children again, and fear was the scent smelled in the air, the vision seen when confronted by a stranger in the dark alleyways, the taste tasted when captured and hurt, the feeling one felt when one was about to die.


	12. Ripples in the Air

London, Brytain:

It would happen like this.

A girl, about 12 years or so, was selling jewelry for her aunt. She was only a common girl, but what was uncommon was her beauty. She was careful to keep her face hidden by a hood so as to disguise her looks, and still, she attracted rather a lot of attention from the townie boys and college boys. When the gyptians came, hell, even some gyptian boys said they liked her. And she was willing to fight. She didn't like the attention.

As she was closing up shop with her aunt, her aunt asked, "Dear, Virgo, could you run to Mrs. Jameson's? I need to pick up my order of clasps and ear-bob posts."

Virgo nodded and picked up her skirts as she walked. She was named after the constellation Virgo.

She started to run, but stopped when she glanced at the setting sun. The sun had cast long shadows over her path; one side of the path was a brick wall, and it made an enormous shadow so that she could barely see her way forward.

"Hey, kitty, want to come play with me?" a rude boy yelled at her from behind the path.

She spun around in distraction. "You—Abel, God's gonna damn you to hell if you speak like that!" she screamed back and made an extremely rude gesture involving her middle finger. If her aunt knew she was doing stuff like that, she'd have Virgo's guts for garters, she was sure. She stuck out her tongue at the boy and kept walking on.

She bumped into something. At first she didn't see, since the object was so tall, but it was a man. Virgo backed up and saw a distinguished, slick-looking man in a very formal gray suit. "Sorry, sir. I never meant to bump into you, sir." She looked down to the ground and found that the man wore very glossy black shoes.

"No offense taken, little girl." The man smiled kindly.

Virgo knew that, living on the streets, not all men were kind, even though they looked kind. Her aunt always had a saying: "Looks are deceptive." She immediately recalled that saying, remembering the meaning of the word _deceptive_, and tried to push her way around the man.

"Where are you going, little girl?" he asked.

Something wasn't right. Her gut feeling told Virgo to run away. She stomped on the man's foot hard and ran the other direction, towards safety, towards people, towards light, while he was yelling in pain. But before she could disappear into the crowd of people haggling for the last wares of the day, the man grabbed her arms. She bit his hand, but he had something far more superior than tooth or nail: a mechanical pistol.

"Oh!" Virgo sucked in a breath before she heard a bang that resounded loudly in her ears. She expected pain, but not this much pain: it drowned out the astonished cries of the onlookers and replaced the drumming in her ears with silence. There was a burning sensation on her leg; it was like fire ripping across her flesh.

Up North:

The roar of an open flame was audible as Erik Olinedar and his group landed. It was getting bitterly cold; they were in the tundra by now, and decided to indulge in the comfort of a fire before heading into numbing, chilling temperatures. The wood crackled and snapped as the flames spread and heightened to a blaze.

"Ah, that's comfortable now," Mary sighed and put her arms over the fire. "My hands were frozen, I tell you that." She was cold, colder than she'd ever been in her life. "I should've worn my furs."

Lyra shook her head. "Nah—I'm wearing mine, and they're too damn hot."

"Don't curse—London's bad enough already as it is, without your London involving cursing."

Lyra stuck out her tongue. "You sound like Mrs. Lonsdale. I mean, she's not so bad now, but when she was mean, she was really mean."

"She can't be as bad as my secondary school teachers," Mary replied matter-of-factly. "One of them used corporal punishment, if I'm correct. If we misbehaved, each person got ten hard whacks to the hand or the neck with the ruler." She shuddered. "I'd never like to go back to that school again, thank you."

"I just ran around and sat bored through the lessons."

"Lucky you. You didn't need to get ten hard raps to the hand with the ruler. It hurt so much, I couldn't write for three hours."

"So what was your schooling like, Erik?" Lyra asked; she was eager to divert the attention to their newest member. "I just ran around Oxford. It's nice there, though it isn't half as fun as going to the North."

"Well, my mother was rather strict, you need to understand that. She kept me studying about Norroway, Brytain, America, High Brazil, Corea, that sort of studies. My father had gone to those places, and I think she was still very much in love with my father, even though he left." Erik fiddled around with the fire, adding sticks every once in a while to make the flame jump higher. "Witches are odd creatures," he commented, glancing behind his shoulder to the view of the witches conversing. "They are at once serene and temperamental. You see they are beautiful, but in the beauty there is a type of...roughness."

Lyra could already see that Erik was the learned type, with an ability to quickly regain composure and seem very intelligent. She liked him in a kind of affectionate way. Lyra sat closer to Will, their heads together in a gesture of love. Maybe Mary and Erik could be together just as Lyra and Will were together as lovers...

Erik's mother came over to them. "Quick," she whispered, "put out the fire. There is something wrong. I cannot name what, but there is something that doesn't feel right."

The group hastily threw snow over the fire, being sure to not make a sound as they lay down on the ground, trying to be inconspicuous. Their necks were tense, every hair on their neck stood up.

There was a vibration passing through the air that chilled their very core; the vibration seeped into their veins. Lyra couldn't help shivering, and then she froze. She must lie absolutely still.

Gradually, like sound waves, the vibration lost its intensity and everyone knew it was all right to get back up again. But they remained silent for the rest of the day, and even Pantalaimon knew it wasn't the time to talk.


End file.
